The Infinity Brigade #1 Stone Cold

by Andrew Beery

  They should have been almost impossible to find but because we had access to their encrypted comms it was a piece of cake to pull up their battle plans. With most of their troops hightailing it back to the nearest of their two camps, Camp Echo, our designated enemy was attempting to contain Beta Platoon with a handful of randomly placed sporadic mortar shells and automated pointer fire. Three of their troops were out in the field attempting to suppress troop movement in Central City. In fairness to them, it was about all they could do… other than throwing in the towel and accepting the loss.

  The plan, such as it was, was to have their troops swap out power packs at Camp Echo and then race back to the engagement zone and continue the battle. It would take them most of an hour to make this happen. The plan hinged on the six remaining men effectively managing to keep our Betas tied down. We, of course, had other ideas.

  I waved Corporal Johnston over to the left and had JJ approach from the top of the steep embankment. Both were crack shots with their pointers. We could have taken these three out from our positions above them but I had other ideas.

  Each of us were wearing our makeshift camo net ponchos. In addition, we had spread a light coating of lubricant on the exposed portions of our Stark suits. The oil allowed us to cover the exterior of our Starks with the ever-present red Martian dust. The result was we were hard to spot without active sensors. Fortunately for us, active sensors were typically not used by an adversary that was trying to remain undetected. This allowed us to approach the enemy’s position and surprise them before they could take action to flee or defend themselves.

  It was Delta Platoon’s Sergeant Fahad that spotted me first. Her eyes went wide and she started to raise her weapon but I simply waved my finger side to side. My pointer was already lasing her breast plate with a targeting beam. I had just to pull the trigger and she would be declared dead by her suit’s AI.

  I opened their command comm channel. “You will all be so kind as to lower your weapons and place your hands behind your heads.”

  That’s when the swearing started. Echo’s sergeant was not as easily dissuaded as Fahar had been. He insisted on pointing his weapon in my general direction. JJ and Johnston both took action immediately and locked the man’s suit up with kill shots. Unfortunately for me I then had to referee a month long fight between the two as each insisted they had the first kill.

  I pulled a can of red spray paint out of my cargo pouch. Walking over to the downed sergeant I painted a bright, vertical, ‘Beta’ on his faceplate and chest. The intensity of the swearing increased.

  I repeated the tagging on each of the others. To their credit they stood by and accepted their fate. I was counting coup and they knew it. Undoubtedly they were anticipating a day when they could return the favor.

  When I was done I opened the comm channel again.

  “Ensign Whitmore I am authorized by the leadership of Beta Platoon to offer you the following generous terms. You will acknowledge that Beta has won the day and return to your respective camps.”

  “And if we don’t?” the Ensign asked.

  I paused for a moment. The man’s voice was a dead ringer for a famous actor of days gone by. A man named John Wayne. I would not have recognized it except that my father had been especially fond of the man’s 2d movies. The thought of my father threatened to overwhelm me with a flood of unpleasant memories and I remembered I was probably less than a thousand kilometers from the home I had grown up in.

  I covered by raising my spray can. “I have a lot more red paint.”

  ***

  The memories of my family haunted me for the next several days. Fortunately the battle exercises got more intense and the Drill sergeants running our AARs, or After Action Reviews, pushed us hard to identify what we did wrong and what the enemy did wrong. After every AAR there was a chance to reflect on what we should do the next time and to game out various scenarios.

  I actually enjoyed this aspect of our training more than anything else we did. Of course the Drills had us keep up our physical training as well. The center section of our Bigelow habitat was filled with gravity plating and every type of exercise equipment needed to keep a Marine recruit happy and fit. We each had a minimum of twenty kilometers to run on the treadmills each day. Fortunately these devices were like the ones available on GCP Starships and had VR goggles that you could wear. I used them to run through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The gravity plating automatically adjusted itself to simulate running up and down hills.

  It was while I was running through the virtual woods, that I had a sudden idea. The simulator showed a creek where driftwood had accumulated in a bend. It occurred to me that the same thing likely happened in the Valles Marineris… especially near the site of the former Tharsis city. The Tharsis region of Mars was home to four of the largest volcanos on the planet. The largest of these, Olympus Mons was on the extreme north side. The other three volcanos lined up neatly on the south side. Valles Marineris sat to the east of these.

  When the D’lralu fleets attacked the Sol system and Mars was struck by a massive kinetic barrage, winds swept over the planet at supersonic speeds. The surface of the planet was scraped clean. Every dome, every building, every vehicle… everything was swept away.

  The Candor Chasma would be a natural collection point for anything that might have survived. It seemed silly but the thought of finding something from my world that had survived the devastation continued to haunt me.

  Every time I got on the treadmill my mind would go back to the thought that in all the world surely something survived. I reasoned that anything that had worked its way into any section of Valles Marineris would most certainly be covered with a thick layer of red dust. It had literally taken years for the skies to clear after the initial attack.

  The key to finding anything would be orbital scans with differential thermal imaging. If I could get a hold of orbital thermography of Candor Chasma before the attack and after I might be able to locate buried debris fields.

  Again, I don’t know why this was so important to me but to be honest I began to obsess. I shared my thoughts with Gretchen and JJ. I was pleasantly surprised when neither of them laughed. Gretchen even went so far as to place a call to the GCP Puller which was still in orbit. It turned out the Fourth Officer was a cousin. She put on the charm and a couple of days later we had the data I was looking for.

  “So…” I said as I taped a printout of a thermograph from 2110, two years before the D’lralu came, to our planning table. Next to it I placed one just done by the Puller. The differences were startling. The general outline of Valles Marineris remained the same but large sections where eroded and others filled in.

  “So… here we have the two maps in standard view mode. It doesn’t look encouraging.”

  JJ nodded. “There is just too much that has changed. It would take a dedicated survey team years to cover all of this.”

  “True, but here is an interesting factoid,” I said. “Humans… especially 22nd century humans, love to build with things other than rocks.” I used my finger to adjust a setting on the smart paper. “I’m going to shift the thermal spectrum we are viewing. Different materials hold and transmit heat differently. If there is an abundance of metal or plastic down there it should show up as a difference in the scans.”

  “And sure enough… there it is” Gretchen pointed to a darker red patch in a gully not fifteen kilometers from our current position. It was one of six that we could see.

  “Is there any way to tell what we are looking at from these scans?” JJ asked.

  I zoomed the smart paper as far as the data would allow on one of the areas. All I got for my effort was a big amorphous blob. If I was going to discover what was there, it would be by visiting the site in person.

  Unfortunately any exploration we might want to do would be delayed as Beta platoon was coming off its one day break and beginning what the Drills were calling ‘two on two’ combat exercises.

  ***

&n
bsp; Ensign Highmark stood in front of our platoon. Next to her were Drill Sergeants Harris, Baldwin and Thomas. It was one of the few times I had ever seen all three working with us at once. This, more than anything else, told me that today was going to be something serious.

  “Good morning campers!” Senior Drill Sergeant Harris yelled. The audio systems in our Stark suits automatically attenuated the volume so his voice was oddly clipped when he got especially loud.

  “We have a very special treat planned for you today. Today you get to participate in the single most difficult thing a Marine is ever asked to do… work with somebody else… who you know in your soul of souls is not as good at doing anything as you are.”

  Harris started walking up and down the line of recruits in our platoon. He stopped when he got to me and smirked. That didn’t bode well. One of the first things you learned as a recruit, with regard to interacting with Drill Sergeants, was to become the ‘unknown soldier.’ Getting noticed by a Drill, especially the senior Drill, was tantamount to having your day ruined in ever more imaginative ways. Today was no exception.

  “Acting Sergeant Stone, what is the accepted and standard procedure for integrating forces consisting of dissimilar nationals?”

  “Senior Drill Sergeant, the accepted and standard procedure for integrating forces of differing origins as defined by the Handbook of the Interstellar Law of Military Operations, 23rd Edition, involves, and I quote ‘the exchange of military advisors so that the dissimilar forces are apprised of the capabilities of their partner forces as well as their likely reaction to ongoing activities. Said advisors should be of sufficient rank as to insure their comments and observations represent a high level view of force-level interactions.’ End quote.”

  I should note, I have what my father called a ‘photogenic memory’. It wasn’t ‘photographic’ but boy it was beautiful!

  “Why Sergeant Stone, if I were a suspicious man… and I am… I would suspect you actually read the assignments.”

  “I try to set a good example for the men Drill Sergeant,” I said with a hopeful smile.

  “Sergeant, I am so glad to hear that. Why don’t you go ahead and give me ten just so the men remember how it’s done.”

  Now keep in mind, I’m wearing a Stark suit. I could keep pumping out pushups until my batteries ran out sometime late tomorrow. The pushups weren’t the point and I knew that.

  When I was done I popped back up and continued standing at parade rest.

  “Sergeant Stone, given that the defining treatise on interstellar military relations calls for an embedded advisor to be exchanged between forces what would you recommend we do?”

  I looked at the Senior Drill. I knew where this conversation was going and I was not a fan of its inevitable outcome. I tried to think of any way to redirect the Senior Drill from his intended target. The problem was, I was the logical choice to go. We couldn’t send our only officer so that left Corporal Johnston or myself. While I like the corporal well enough, his strongest qualification to date was that he hadn’t gotten anybody killed yet.

  “Senior Drill, in the spirit of cross-platoon unity, I volunteer to be the embedded noncom from Beta Platoon to Alpha Platoon.”

  “Outstanding! By God we might just make a Marine out of you yet son!”

  Hoorah was all I could think to myself. Thus began my two days from hell. I grabbed my gear and headed straight south towards the Alpha camp. On the way I passed their noncom heading to our camp. She was their corporal which meant their acting sergeant was still going to be there. I had a bad feeling about this. Turns out my gut was right again.

  As I approached the Alpha camp’s main gate… I was challenged by one of their sentries. I identified myself. The private who was on duty stepped forward. His pointer was directed disturbingly right at my chest.

  “Hands up,” he ordered.

  “Seriously,” I answered as I raised my hands.

  “Drop your weapon!”

  So let me describe the situation. I’ve just dropped my duffle bag in the dirt. My arms are in the air. My rifle is slung over my shoulder. I have some young punk in front of me pointing a weapon at me. Alpha Camp is well aware that I am coming and the ident chip implanted in my arm is ample proof that I am who I say I am. I wanted to clear all this up because what was to follow in a few minutes is the justifiable result of me being royally ticked off.

  “Ah, Private… Dimwit… is it?”

  “Private Dimmit. My name is Private Dimmit.”

  “Thank you Private Dimwit. May I lower my arms to unsling my weapon?”

  “Slowly… and drop your duffle bag as well.”

  I very carefully did as I was told. I didn’t bother mentioning that my duffle was already on the ground. This did not seem to be the type of individual that exercised his mind by juggling multiple thoughts at once. I knew a pointer couldn’t really hurt a man in a Stark suit but for all I knew this idiot had a kinetic loaded. It still wouldn’t hurt me unless he managed to hit a joint or my faceplate.

  Once my rifle was on the ground and my duffle bag with it, the private had me raise my hands again.

  “Really? Seriously? This is the game you want to play with me?” I asked.

  Dimwit turned his head to speak to the man behind him. I have no idea why people do that when they are wearing a Stark suit. The microphone picking up your voice is no more effective because you are looking at the person you are speaking to.

  “He’s not exactly cooperative,” Dimmit said.

  “You better make sure he’s clean,” the second soldier said. I still couldn’t see him behind the guard station’s camo net.

  I took a single step forward. “Now see here,” I began. I stopped when Dimmit quickly swung his rifle back at me.

  “Dump your bag.”

  “WHAT?”

  “DUMP YOU FREAK’N BAG! We need to be sure you aren’t carrying any type of contraband into our camp.”

  I carefully opened the duffle bag. On the top I always packed a small tarp. This was so I could place the tarp on the ground and keep my equipment clean. Mars was always a dusty place and the D’lralu abuses had not improved the situation.

  As I started to extract the tarp my newest friend, Private Dimwit, got aggressive. He pushed me back with the butt of his weapon. If I had not been wearing a Stark suit he could easily have broken a rib or two.

  He took my duffle bag from me and physically dumped in on the ground. He kicked the contents around with his foot… thus ensuring everything had a nice coating of Martian red on it.

  “It looks clean,” he reported to the other soldier.

  I’d have laughed at the irony if I wasn’t so pissed.

  “Go ahead and pack it up,” he ordered me.

  “Why certainly Private Dimwit,” I spat.

  “I SAID my name was Dimmit,” he spat back while threating to hit me with the barrel of his weapon again.

  Call it a personal failing but I had had enough. I sidestepped his barrel thrust and grabbed his weapon away from him. Using his momentum I struck the base of his helmet with the butt of the weapon I had just taken from him. The Stark suit kept him from being seriously hurt. What it did do was distract him long enough for me to pop the latches on his front-mounted primary battery pack. The pack dropped straight down.

  “Hey,” he yelled.

  “Want this?” I asked as I showed him his own rifle. When he went to reach for it I tossed it behind him. He turned watching his weapon fly smoothly through the air. As he turned, his secondary and only remaining battery was exposed. I popped a few more latches and that battery dropped like a stone as well.

  Private Dimmit learned a very valuable lesson that day. A Stark suit without batteries had a lot in common with a paper weigh. Both will hold something down. Both are intrinsically inanimate.

  Chapter 12: Boot Camp – Alpha Camp…

  I noticed, when I finally met him that Ensign Anderson did not appear to be amused. The Alpha’s NCO, a Sergeant Coch
ran, had been sent to meet me at the main gate. He was late and what followed can only be called a series of screw-ups of the grandest sort. In my defense, as I have explained before, I am a deeply flawed individual and I have little tolerance for lazy thinkers like Private Dimmit.

  Sergeant Cochran had arrived at the guard shack moments after Private Dimmit had begun, what I had since learned were, Alpha’s standard challenge procedures. The fact that a ‘Sergeant Stone’ had been expected had not deterred the private from being excessively thorough. Rather than stopping his private, Sergeant Cochran had encouraged him to continue. Apparently he had wanted to see what I was made of. They got their answer. I have been called ‘Stone Cold’ for a reason. When I was done, the private was immobilized, on the ground, and with a dead Stark suit.

  Sergeant Cochran then came out and introduced himself. He was clapping. If you have never heard a person clap in a Stark suit imagine the sound two bulldozers might make hitting themselves against each other repeatedly. Only the thin Martian air attenuated what would have been an eardrum splitting cacophony.

  In fairness, had our roles been reversed, I might have done the same thing to get the measure of Sergeant Cochran. He and I then walked back to the main camp like the best of friends… laughing the entire way. It was only when we had walked the three quarters of a kilometer back to the B-TOC that the Alpha sergeant had sent a message back to the second guard at the gate telling him that he was now allowed to replace Dimmit’s power packs.

  So here we were, standing before the Alpha’s Ensign at attention.

  “At Ease,” Anderson said after a few seconds. “So you make a powerful first impression Sergeant Stone. No wonder Beta was so anxious to get rid of you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Oh your exploits are the thing of legend Sergeant Stone. The man who almost succeeded in killing a private under his command. The man who recklessness managed to destroy not one but two very expensive Stark suits. The man whose misdeeds required the direct intervention no less than Commodore Kimbridge herself. The man, who even after being demoted managed to so ingratiate himself with his Drill Sergeants that he got himself returned to a position of responsibility… only to betray that trust by deliberately endangering the lives of two entire platoons during a training exercise by compromising critical software in their Tactical Combat Armor.”