by P. A. Piatt
The dropship jerked to a stop, and the ramp slammed down, flooding the compartment with light. Fortis’ harness released, and he struggled to his feet. All around him, Space Marines jumped to their feet and exited the shuttle. Fortis staggered down the ramp after them. The additional gravity made his movements slow and uncoordinated; he felt like he was running underwater.
The drone-launched cutter charges had cleared an oblong area approximately one hundred meters long and seventy meters across at its widest. Blasted tree trunks and shredded vegetation blanketed the area. Hot exhaust from the dropship created a whirlwind of dirt and debris as Fortis stumbled across the tangled landscape to their assigned sector of the perimeter. Behind him, the mech roared to life, and the sound spurred him on. He didn’t know what kind of visibility the mech crews had, and he didn’t want to get ground up in the treads because they didn’t see him trailing behind his men.
The tone of the dropship engines changed, and Fortis knew without looking that the craft was again airborne. No sooner had it cleared the DZ before the next dropship landed.
Fortis reached his position on the perimeter and flopped on his belly. His rifle was still in its case strapped to his back and he fumbled to pull it over his helmet. His breath came in ragged gulps, and his mouth was gummy, but he was otherwise uninjured.
Two minutes later, the last dropship roared into the air and relative silence descended over the drop zone. Fortis stared at the dark green jungle in front of him and wondered what was next.
Someone kicked his feet. Fortis looked up and saw Corporal Ystremski standing over him, pointing to his helmet. Fortis threw his hands up in confusion and Ystremski reached down and grabbed a wire attached to Fortis’ helmet. There was a loud pop in his ear and Ystremski’s voice filled his helmet.
“You didn’t unplug from the fuckin’ intercom in the dropship, sir.”
No wonder it was so quiet.
Fortis nodded and gave Ystremski a thumbs up. Ystremski shook his head and motioned for the lieutenant to get up.
“No thumbs up, sir. We’ve got a situation.”
Fortis struggled to his feet and looked where the corporal was pointing. A group of Space Marines were gathered around another who was flat on his back.
“What happened?”
“Just come on, sir.”
Fortis approached the group and he saw Doc Kramer of Third Platoon and a Marine he didn’t recognize working furiously over the XO, Baker. Blood was leaking from Baker’s ears, and his face was dull gray. Kramer was pumping his chest while the other medic squeezed a respirator clamped over his face. The stricken officer didn’t respond.
Gunny Hawkins motioned at Fortis and the two men stepped away from the group.
“What happened, Gunny?”
“No idea, sir. We un-assed the dropship and took positions on the perimeter. We were talking about the mechs and then he grunted and fell down. Doc got here in seconds, but it looks like he was too late.”
“Goddamnit!” Kramer yanked his helmet off and slammed it on the ground, clearly frustrated. “I told that jackass not to send him; that it wasn’t safe. But he wouldn’t listen. That asshole killed him.”
Fortis stepped back to the group. “What is it, Doc? Who killed him?”
Kramer blinked the tears out of his eyes. “The CO, sir. Captain Reese. I told him Lieutenant Baker wasn’t ready for this drop, but he insisted. Baker was having trouble with the new intelligence enhancement, and I wanted to transfer him to the Fleet hospital ship. He shouldn’t have dropped on this fucking planet. Fuckin’ idiot.” He turned, snatched up his helmet, and stalked away.
Gunny Hawkins put a hand on Fortis’ arm. “Let him go, LT. He just needs a minute to cool off.”
“He’s got some history with Captain Reese, sir,” Ystremski said. “What are your orders, sir?”
Fortis stared at the corporal.
Orders?
The newly minted second lieutenant realized he was now the ranking ISMC officer on Pada-Pada.
Fortis looked around the drop zone. “Uh, well, I guess we should start by clearing all this debris from the DZ, uh, dig some fighting positions…”
Gunny Hawkins patted him on the shoulder. “Tell you what, LT. How about you and Doc Kramer get on the horn and tell the company commander what happened to Lieutenant Baker. While you’re doing that, I’ll grab Warrant Pell and we’ll get started unfucking this place. When you’re done, I’ll brief you on what we’re doing. If it meets your satisfaction, we’ll get it done. How’s that sound, sir?”
Fortis was smart enough to recognize a lifeline when he saw one and was grateful to grab it.
“Sounds good, Gunny. I’d forgotten all about reporting this. You think they’ll send a replacement?”
Hawkins snorted. “For Lieutenant Baker? Fat chance. This mission is an easy breather. Two weeks of catching up on our sleep, remember?” He shook his head and kicked at a large clod of dirt. “No, sir, there’s no replacement coming.”
Ten minutes later, Fortis was sitting in one of the mechs and listened as the communications NCO made contact with Atlas.
“Sorry about the delay, sir. Everything went to hell when the dropship bounced and scrambled all the crypto.” He pecked at his keyboard and finished with a flourish. “Try it now. No need for callsigns, it’s secure.”
Fortis keyed his microphone. “Atlas, this is Lieutenant Abner Fortis, uh, Foxtrot Company detachment on Pada-Pada. I’m looking for Foxtrot Company Actual, Captain Timothy Reese, over.”
After several seconds, he keyed his mic again, but the comms NCO stopped him. “Give it a second, sir. It’s going to take some time. They’re already on their way to Ha’acka Ro, after all.”
Just then, a tinny voice replied to his hail. “This is Atlas, stand by for Captain Reese, over.”
Almost ten minutes later, Fortis heard Captain Reese’s voice, and his annoyance was unmistakable.
“Lieutenant Fortis, this is Foxtrot Actual. This better be important, I was just called out of an important briefing with the division staff. Why isn’t Baker calling me?”
“Lieutenant Baker is dead, sir.”
After a long pause, Reese replied. “Say again, Fortis. Did you say Baker is dead?”
“Yes sir. The XO is dead.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Lieutenant Baker suffered some kind of attack right after we dropped, sir. Doc Kramer worked on him, but he was too far gone. He thinks it might be related to the intelligence enhancement Baker received, but we’ve got no way to know for sure.”
“Okay, Fortis. It’s unfortunate, but what do you want from me?”
Kramer lunged for the handset, and Fortis had to push him away.
“Unfortunate my ass. He killed him!”
Fortis held up a finger to silence the angry corpsman and pressed the transmit button.
“Sir, I need to know how you want to handle this. Should we stand by for a transport to pick up Baker’s body? Will you send a replacement for him?”
Reese scoffed. “You think I’m going to ask the battalion staff to request a transport to retrieve one dead Marine? I can’t do that. There are no officers hanging around waiting for reassignment, either.” The captain’s exasperation grew and his voice became more shrill. “You’re just going to have to make do for two weeks on your own, Fortis. You can manage that, can’t you?”
Fortis looked at Kramer, but Kramer’s face was locked in a deep scowl.
“I think so, yes, sir. Warrant Pell and Gunny Hawkins are here. If we need additional help for any reason, we’ll contact the Conglomerate.”
“I’m gratified to hear that you can handle a camping trip, Lieutenant Fortis. Is there anything else?”
“Lieutenant Baker’s body, sir. What should we do with him?”
“Unless you want to smell him for the next two weeks, I suggest you bury him and mark the spot. Foxtrot Actual, out.”
Fortis stared at the handset for a long second
before he set it in the cradle.
Kramer pointed at it. “I told you he was an asshole, sir.”
* * * * *
Chapter Six
Fortis located Warrant Pell and Gunny Hawkins deep in discussion over a diagram of the camp scratched into the dirt. Two of the mechs had been fitted with bulldozer blades and were pushing shattered trees and undergrowth into gigantic piles, which the Space Marines set alight with flamethrowers. Columns of smoke rose into the sky from several such piles around the drop zone as more Marines scorched the exposed dirt left behind by the mechs. To Fortis’ inexperienced eye, the area was complete chaos.
“How did it go, LT?”
Fortis sighed. “You were right, Gunny. He’s not sending a replacement. We’re to bury Baker and mark the spot.”
“No surprise there. The CO isn’t one for taking bad news to his boss.”
Hawkins explained what he and Pell were planning for the encampment. Fortis nodded as the gunny pointed out the various defensive features.
“Why are the Marines burning the dirt, Gunny?”
“They’re cauterizing it, sir. Some of those plants grow a foot or more every day and if we don’t burn the seeds they’ve dropped, they’ll cover this place in a week. The flamethrowers also burn up any eggs that might have fallen out of the stuff that got bulldozed.”
Fortis pointed to an area on the diagram. “Is this a firing range?”
“Yes, sir; firing range and demo training area. We loaded four tons of ammo and explosives, so we have plenty of stuff to play with. The men get bored if they sit around too long, and we don’t get to train with ballistic weapons very often, so I figured we should take advantage.”
“Sounds good. How much longer until you get all this done?”
Hawkins snorted and looked at Pell. “Typical.” He turned back to Fortis. “We just got here, sir. Do they teach impatience and unrealistic expectations at officer school?”
The trio laughed. “I’m just wondering what’s next, Gunny. You’re doing such a bang-up job I might let you be in charge more often.”
“I hate to be a buzz kill,” Warrant Pell said grimly, “but you should spend some time looking through Lieutenant Baker’s stuff. He’s probably got something in there that will tell us what the hell we’re supposed to be doing here.”
* * *
The incoming call alert buzzed on Dexter Beck’s computer. He poked the “answer” button and Paden Nesbitt’s face appeared.
“Beck.”
“Beck, it’s Nesbitt. Our scouts reported that the Space Marines dropped about an hour ago. Six dropships, two platoons plus mechs. Probably another dozen clerks and jerks. Eighty troops, give or take. They’re setting up their base camp now.”
“Hmm. Where did they set up?” Beck entered a command on his keyboard and a holographic chart depicting a twenty-five-kilometer square of Pada-Pada appeared over his desk.
Centered on the Conglomerate mission headquarters, the chart showed all five mine shafts and the entrance to the underground miner colony as green dots tucked up close to the slopes of the Southron Ridge. Six kilometers north, the eastern shore of the Mineral Sea glowed blue and deadly.
“About a half-klick south of Shaft Two. I sent you coordinates.”
Nesbitt no sooner said it than a red pulsing dot appeared on Beck’s hologram.
“I see it now. Why are they over by Shaft Two?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. When I talked to Captain Reese, I told him we would work at Shaft Five. I guess somebody didn’t get the word.”
Beck scoffed. “That’s the ISMC for you. Why the hell did we ask them here, anyway?”
“I guess Conglomerate management thought it would be a good idea to comply with the law once in a while.”
For over a hundred years, the United Nations of Terra Outer Space Treaty regulated organizations like the Galactic Resource Conglomerate as they explored and exploited the resources of space. Most companies viewed the treaty as a necessary bureaucratic hurdle and an unenforceable nuisance, and their compliance with it typically coincided with major licensing decisions by the various regulatory agencies of the UNT.
“You think they’ll find the old mechs?”
Nesbitt shrugged. “I don’t know. If they do, so what? It’s no secret what happened the last time they deployed here.”
Nesbitt’s unblinking stare made Beck feel uneasy, even through the monitor. The irony in his voice lent a threatening undertone to his words, and Beck was glad he hadn’t worked on another project with the hulking mercenary since they’d been on Pada-Pada seven years ago. He felt a strong urge to steer the conversation in another direction.
“Have they contacted us yet? Do we have the right frequencies up?”
“Nothing yet. We have a face to face scheduled for tomorrow, so maybe they’ll wait until then. The captain I was talking to, Reese? He didn’t seem to care much about the details.”
“Is that who’s in charge of the operation? Captain Reese?”
“No. Some lieutenant named Baker. Company XO, I think. He didn’t seem excited about coming here, so maybe they’ll stay in camp.”
“Nobody who knows anything about Pada-Pada is excited about coming here, Nesbitt. Not even you.” He paused for a second. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now.”
* * *
Fortis and Kramer met to write the report of Baker’s death for transmission to Foxtrot Company. When they came to the field for cause of death, the pair disagreed about what to enter.
“Lieutenant Baker complained about his headaches since he came back from the Fleet Hospital on Terra Earth, sir. I checked his medical records, and he had no history of any brain trauma or head injuries. All of his scans were clear during a routine physical exam last year. It had to be that intelligence augmentation.”
“Doc, we don’t know for sure it was the intelligence augmentation that killed him. Maybe he had an aneurysm. Maybe he hit his head and nobody saw it.”
“Come on, LT. You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?”
Fortis thought for a moment. “I don’t know what I believe, but I know what we don’t know, and we don’t know how Baker died. I don’t understand why you’re convinced the intelligence augmentation is what killed him. Is it Captain Reese?”
“What? No!” Kramer’s denial came quickly, and Fortis knew he’d hit a nerve. He had to admit, the information they had pointed to the intelligence augmentation, but he wasn’t comfortable blaming it outright without direct evidence, which they didn’t have.
“Tell you what, Doc. How about if we call it ‘possible intelligence augmentation failure’ and we’ll include Baker’s full medical history with the report. That should be enough to get the doctors to look into it when we get back to Atlas. Does that work for you?”
Kramer scowled, but Fortis thought he saw a glimmer of acceptance. The corpsman shrugged.
“Okay, LT. I guess that’s okay.”
They finished the report and transmitted it. Doc Kramer left to finish setting up the aid station under construction.
For the next hour, Fortis stared at Baker’s pack but avoided opening it. He struggled to understand his reluctance to sort through the dead officer’s gear.
It felt ghoulish peeking into Baker’s private life. Baker was a virtual stranger, and Fortis had no idea what the other man might have packed. Would there be family photos, a smiling wife and kids in some happy place on Terra Earth? A stack of letters from an aging mother, left alone while her son served the UNT? Maybe some embarrassing personal items that would reveal a side of Baker unknown to his fellow Space Marines?
Stop it!
Frustrated that his imagination was getting the better of him, Fortis finally yanked open the pack and started to empty it. His trepidation faded as he pulled out uniforms, pieces of gear, a bundle of pig squares; the same things Fortis himself had packed with Ystremski’s help. It was all anonymous, ISMC standard issue stuff. If he rem
oved the nametapes from the gear, it could have been anybody’s.
In a side pocket, he discovered a dirty and dog-eared copy of the ISMC Platoon Leader Manual, the Bible for Space Marine officers. Folded inside the cover was a strip of photo booth pictures of Baker and a young woman. It was undated and there was nothing written on the back. Fortis put the photos back into the book and tucked it inside his own armor.
Fortis unearthed an ISMC-issued tablet cushioned between two T-shirts. If Baker had kept any information on their deployment to Pada-Pada, it should be on the tablet, and Fortis set it aside for further examination. He reached the bottom of the pack and surveyed the gear piled around the deck.
It was all ISMC property, but the “personal” stuff, like uniforms with name tapes sewn on them, would go back into the pack. The stuff any Marine could use like socks, T-shirts, and the bundle of pig squares, Fortis set aside. He felt a little guilty, like he was stealing, but Baker didn’t need them anymore and one of the other Marines might.
Three distinct shots rang out followed by a prolonged burst from one of the machine guns mounted on the mechs. Fortis forgot all about sorting out the dead man’s life. He grabbed his rifle and cracked open the mech hatch to look outside.
Gunny Hawkins’ voice crackled in his ear. “LT, this is Hawkins. Sentries spotted several bugs approaching from the northeast. They neutralized the threat.”
“Roger that, Gunny. I’m on my way.”
By the time Fortis reached the northeast perimeter, the Space Marines had dragged several bug carcasses out of the jungle and laid them out for inspection. The biggest one was the size of a large dog with a carapace that shimmered with gold and red and a segmented tail that ended in a nasty barbed stinger. Black goo oozed from the tip of the stinger and formed a steaming pool on the ground under it.
