by Andrew Beery
The trip to the gully we had identified as a likely target took less than ten minutes at a full Stark suit run. Each of us carried Mark One Instant Latrine kits on our backs… to the uninitiated these were called shovels.
I also carried a thumper. Thumpers operated by slapping the ground with a hard metal plate and listening for the echoes. By moving the plate from location to location you could build up a reasonable picture of the features under a seemingly solid surface. It took about twenty minutes but eventually we had enough data for my suit’s limited AI to construct a map of the subterranean features.
As expected the area was mostly rock. There were several sand-filled fissures but nothing of interest to us. I checked the map we had gotten from the GCP Puller. It was hard to determine exactly where we were. Mar’s wasn’t like Earth with hundreds of GPS satellites in orbit and to help you determine your exact location to within a few inches.
I shifted us a few hundred meters and fired up my thumper again. I was about midway through the process when I began to get back data that seemed different. I continued to work my thumping grid. When at last I had the data my AI needed, it generated the map I needed.
Buried under several feet of dirt were the answers, or at very least the comfort, that I had be seeking for the better part of ten years. I placed the tip of my trenching tool into the dirt and pushed.
The dirt came up easily. Too easily in fact. As fast as I could dig the sand away, new sand would flow in. After several minutes it was obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with the shovel. I began to look around to see if there were any other options. I wasn’t seeing any and I was about to give up when JJ made a startling suggestion. I was in shock. Not just because JJ had made a suggestion but because it was actually a good one.
Our Stark suits were fitted with thrusters in the feet. They could be used to fly for very short distances. They were rarely used because they sucked a power pack dry in just a few minutes. JJ’s suggestion was that he and I hold Gretchen by the arms and she fire up her thrusters on a minimal setting. It would be like holding a leaf blower to the sand.
It took a few tries to get the settings right. We ended up having to have the Ensign freeze her suit so we could hold and aim her more easily. Soon enough we were making quick progress. Even on the lowest settings we were only getting about five minutes out of a power pack. When Gretchen’s first pack ran down we switched it out for my reserve pack. When that was gone we did the same with JJ’s. Fortunately fifteen minutes was all we needed to get down the five feet to the top of whatever was buried under the sand.
At first it seemed to be a large metal panel. I was disappointed because we had uncovered a good four feet of the panel and it was showing no signs ending. It would be too big to take back with us. I was about to suggest we stop and get fresh power packs so we could try another area nearby when we ran across the last thing I expected to see… a cargo latch. We hadn’t found a metal panel… we had found the sealed rear door of an intact cargo container… the type used to carry items up and down the space elevator that used to be located on Olympus Mons.
JJ broke the lock with a simple twist of one of his Stark suit’s powerful gauntlets. When the door was finally wrestled open none of us knew what to expect... but an X-34 LandSpeeder in mint condition was not high on the list.
Chapter 15: Boot Camp – Blank Checks…
“Bugger,” JJ groaned in mock agony. “How in bloody hell are you going to fit that in your back pocket?”
“Maybe they have some of those fluffy dice hanging off of the rear viewscreen,” Ensign Highmark offered.
I was absolutely silent. Understand my thinking process here. In all of Mars, there were perhaps only a dozen of these vehicles. When you tapped your wrist link and asked it to look up luxury item… this is what it showed you.
LandSpeeders used the same type of hyperfield repulsers our shuttles had, to hover above the surface of the planet and ducted turbo fans to guide the craft forward. They were big enough to have their own liquid thorium reactors and so they could run for years without a refuel… and thorium was even more abundant on Mars than it was on Earth.
When that first person who ever saw a car and uttered the word “Sweet!” was speaking… their words were but foretaste of what was to come… in the form of the X-34 LandSpeeder. If the essence of beauty could be encapsulated in physical form… this is what it would look like. My uncle, Luke Hamill, had gotten one of the X-33s the year before Mars was destroyed. I remember riding in it. This was perfect. I thanked the Beloved Creator for this gift.
After a few moments I realized the others were speaking. I shook my head to clear it.
“AG, are you going to be alright?” Gretchen asked in a concerned voice.
In response I turned and hugged her. The experience was not nearly as nice as it would have been had we not been wearing Stark suits… but hey… I was in the moment!
“My Uncle Luke had several of these over the years. He loved them and I have to admit I did to. Help me get it up.”
“WHAT?” JJ and Gretchen gasped as one.
The shipping container was at an eighty-five degree angle. We would be lifting the car almost straight up in order to get it out. It would have been an impossible task for three individuals except for two factors. First, we were on Mars and second we were all wearing Mark Two Stark suits. I explained this simple fact to my compatriots and pretty soon we were trying to figure out how to get into the shipping container in order to get the LandSpeeder out.
It had been packed with that self-expanding shipping foam that can be a royal pain in the ass to get off without the right tools. Fortunately because we had opened the container correctly, albeit, in the wrong orientation, we could see a silver packet with a blaze-orange tag on it. The packet contained specially programmed nanites that were designed to tear apart the packing foam into plain old carbon dioxide and hydrogen.
The biggest problem came about because the shipping container was at an odd angle. Once the foam was digested by the nanites the car would fall against the side of the container. In this case, the car would be resting on its passenger side. It wouldn’t hurt the car terribly but given what it had already been through, it seemed a shame to scratch the paint needlessly.
I solved the problem by digging my hand as deeply into the foam as I could before having the Ensign release the nanites. As the foam broke down into its component gasses I held the LandSpeeder up off the wall. A few minutes later, Gretchen, who was the smallest of us, shimmied down the side of the car. As she pushed from behind, JJ and I pulled from above. In no time we had the car out of the container and on the ground.
I reached into the glove box and removed the owner’s manual tablet. It was technically stealing but I viewed our efforts as a salvage operation and besides, if the real owner ever showed up I doubted he or she would mind that I took the tablet with its iconic LandSpeeder logo. I put the small device in my pocket.
I turned to Ensign Highmark and JJ. There were tears in my eyes that were frustrating me because in a Stark suit there was no way to wipe them away.
“I can’t thank you guys enough for helping me unbury my past. When we get back to the BTOC we need to place a call to the Martian authorities and let them know what we found. That car belongs in a holocaust museum.”
JJ had been doing a slow circle of the X-34 while I was speaking. He stopped when he had gotten to the rear of the vehicle.
“AG, lad. What did ya say your uncle’s name was?”
“Hamill,” I answered.
“And his first name?”
“Luke… why?”
“Bollocks,” JJ mumbled.
I walked around to the rear of the LandSpeeder and looked to where he was pointing. There on the back of the car was a custom license plate. “Luke IV”
***
When we got back to camp all of us were running low on juice in our Stark suits. In fairness, we probably ran things closer to the line than we should h
ave but somehow I could not bring myself to regret anything that we had done. I had my memento and it had far more meaning for me than I could have ever expected.
Rather than just plugging our Starks into their umbilicals, we elected to swap out our battery packs with fresh ones. This was just good practice because if we got the call to deploy it would stink to high heaven if we had to take the time to swap out partially recharged power packs.
It turned out to be a good move on our parts because less than an hour after we had returned to base Gretchen got a call from Senior Drill Sergeant Harris. He wanted to see Gretchen and me immediately at the Instructor’s B-TOC. We had ten minutes to hoof it there and we were not to be late.
***
“Whenever a soldier raises his or her right hand and takes the oath of service, he or she is writing a blank check,” Senior Drill Sergeant Harris said. “The value of that blank check is up to and including the life of the person taking the oath. Our jobs as leaders within the corps is to not waste those checks needlessly.”
There were about a dozen of us in the room. Ensign Highmark and I were from Beta platoon. Sergeant Cochran was the lone representative of Alpha. The others included the Ensign and Sergeants from both Delta and Echo. There were also an equal number of Drill Sergeants from each of the platoons. This was easily the biggest assembly of Drills I had seen since starting Boot Camp. I’ve got to say it engendered a certain degree of sphincter tightening that was uncomfortable.
Harris continued his lecture. “Aside from the Drill Sergeants present, no one in this room is being held responsible for what happened. With one exception, all the recruits that were injured are being recycled into the next available recruit class once their injuries are fully addressed. Mr. Dimmit will not be allowed to return. In addition, acting Ensign Anderson has been reduced to private and is also being recycled.”
Harris shook his head in frustration. “What I’m about to say is off script and not to be repeated. Am I clear on that?”
“YES SENIOR DRILL!” We all barked.
He looked up. I think this was the first time he noticed we were all still at attention. “At ease recruits… at ease.”
He took another deep breath. “I want to address the elephant in the room. Why was a man as supremely unfit for command allowed to hold it? I’m not talking about Mr. Dimmit. He was the inevitable victim of incompetence. No, I am referring to Alpha’s former acting Ensign. Mister Anderson is the result of unfortunate genetics… in other words, he is related by blood to a person of extreme influence within the Galactic Coalition. Such circumstances are a reality of life and each of you will need to learn to deal with them.”
He paused to look at each of us. The other Drill Sergeants shuffled about uncomfortably. Clearly Senior Drill Sergeant Harris was well and truly off script by quite a distance at this point.
“The universe is not always a fair place,” He continued. “Had any of the rest of you been guilty of risking the life of a recruit like then acting Ensign Anderson had by putting Dimmit in charge you would have been drummed out. Period. No questions asked.”
At this point he turned to look directly at Gretchen and myself. We instinctively came back to attention.
“You two seem to be something special. Despite receiving an order to remove their Stark suits, your team members had the good sense to keep most of their protective gear on. It is our belief that their good sense is a reflection of the leadership you two have shown. A note to that effect has been placed in both your service jackets.”
He turned to single me out. “While an Ensign, you foolishly risked a life… your own. You did it to save the life of another. Although that individual has left the service, he was able to do so on his own two feet due in large part to your actions that day. It’s said that ‘no greater love has any man but that he should be willing to lay down his life for another.’ The only check you risked was your own. You received an administrative punishment for ignoring an order… mine. That said, I’m damn proud of you son.”
Sergeant Harris walked down the line a few feet. Gretchen and I went back to parade rest. I wasn’t sure what I was more fearful of… the Senior Drill chewing me out or the Senior Drill complimenting me.
Harris stopped in front of Acting Sergeant Cochran. “Sergeant, what is your assessment of Sergeant Stone?”
“Senior Drill, he is an exemplary leader and I would follow him anywhere.”
Senior Drill Sergeant Harris turned to face the other Drills. “Any concerns?” They all shook their heads.
“ATTENTION TO ARMS!”
Immediately all of us came to full attention.
“Effective immediately, Acting Sergeant Anthony Grant Stone is promoted to Acting Ensign. Ensign Stone you will pack your gear and head over to your new command, Alpha Platoon.”
***
My first order of business when I got to Alpha Platoon’s B-TOC was to meet with my troops. Fortunately I had worked with several of them earlier in the week. My corporal was a stocky muscular gal named Nella Banks. According to Sergeant Cochran she was competent enough. She had a bit of a tendency to hit hard and fast… and then ask questions later but that type of behavior could be useful in a Marine if properly channeled.
“I know most of you were not expecting a new Ensign to show up today… and certainly not an outsider. I know that I was certainly not expecting to be standing here today. Consider this a preview of life as a Marine. We are subject to the whims of those senior to us at all times. I have one goal and one goal alone… it is the same goal that each of you should have. Everything I say… everything I do will be predicated on obtaining that one goal. That goal is to make sure that I become the best Marine that I can become.”
I walked the line of recruits that Sergeant Cochran had called to attention when we walked into the B660 that was serving as our billet.
“If you remember nothing else I ever say… remember this… A Marine never stands alone. Marines stand on the shoulders of every Marine that ever came before him or her. Marines stand on the shoulders of their comrades. Sometimes they are reaching up to obtain a goal too high for any one Marine to reach on their own… sometimes they are reaching down to pull their fellow Marine up. I expect all of you to do the same.”
I paused to look them all in the eye. “A wise leader often listens first and makes changes later. Unfortunately we don’t have time to be as wise as I would like. In less than a month we will be graduating Boot Camp and moving on into our Advanced Individual Training. If Sergeant Cochran or Corporal Banks informs me of a situation that needs addressing… we will address it immediately. I the meantime we are going to get to know each other with a nice fifty kilometer run.”
As anticipated, the statement about the run generated a number of groans. Such protestations were expected of recruits and all of us knew it. In fairness, a 50K run in a Stark suit was nothing other than a chance for a group of people to talk. The suits did all of the work for us and our tender bits had long ago stopped chaffing during long periods in the suits.
I knew from my conversations with my new Senior Drill Sergeant, a Master Sergeant named Morris, that we had the balance of the day to get to know one another. Tomorrow we would begin a new round of training exercises.
***
At 0’Dark Thirty my commlink started buzzing. It was 3AM. I was up and in my Stark suit before my brain had finished rebooting. One of the nice things about the Starks that we were using on Mars as opposed to the ones we had at New Parris Island, was these ones were kitted out with four sippers. Sippers were tubes you could reach with your mouth while wearing the helmet. One was always water. One was some type of protein goop. One was a high-energy carbohydrate drink and one was… fully caffeinated coffee.
It was this last that I was sucking on like a newborn babe as I exited the B-TOC and headed to the Drill Sergeants B-TOC at a run. Don’t get me wrong… as coffee went… it was horrible. Black tar dissolved in rubbing alcohol might have been preferable�
� but it was hot and caffeinated and that is what counted.
Sergeant Cochran was only a few steps behind me. I was glad we had gone lights out at 10PM. Corporal Banks was rousting the troops as we headed over to get our exercise briefing from the Drills.
We were not the first there but we were not the last either. Gretchen and her new Sergeant, JJ Hammond had beaten us by less than twenty seconds. It was a point of pride to see who could get to the Drill’s B-TOC first after a call went out.
Drills Harris and Morris looked like they were completely fresh. I wondered how they managed to do it but I suspected it was a combination of more experience and possibly better coffee… scratch that… I’m sure they had better coffee. No one would hand an experienced Marine with access to live weapons the type of coffee they fed us.
“Welcome Darl’ns,” Senior Drill Sergeant Morris chuckled. “Are ya ready to play a little game of ‘Top of the Rock’?”
Chapter 16: Boot Camp – Top of the Rock …
‘Top of the Rock’ was simple in concept. Your opponent held the top of the hill and you tried your best to knock them off the ‘top of the rock’. Of course nothing was ever that simple. The guys on the top of the rock had all the weapons and ammo they needed. This included the crew-served M4000 smart machine gun and enough mortars to level a small city.
Delta/Echo currently owned the rock. Our job was to take it from them. To accomplish this we were given an unlimited supply of pointers and power packs, as well as, a single railgun capable of tossing twenty kilogram KEWs almost nine hundred kilometers. The KEWs would be simulated but recruits within fifteen kilometers of the calculated impact point would find their Stark suit disabled. It was the one weapon which could, in and of itself, virtually guarantee victory. Did I mention that nothing was ever that simple?
We were given the railgun… but not the transportation assets to get it from its current location in Valles Marineris near Candor Chasma to Arsia Mons, the southern-most dead volcano in the Tharsis Montes chain. It was not big but it would take a team of eight to disassemble it and carry it to where we could use it.
