An Attitude Adjustment (BattleMage Investigates Book 1)

by Taki Drake

  Table of Contents

  Legal Stuff

  Introduction

  An Attitude Adjustment

  Meet the Author

  Taki’s Picks

  Legal Stuff

  Copyright ©2017 All Chaos Press, All Rights Reserved.

  Reproduction of any kind is strictly prohibited unless written permission granted by the editor of the anthology and the individual author.

  The stories included in this anthology are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The individual stories are covered under the copyright of the originating writer. The presence of their creative work in the anthology is by permission of each author.

  An Attitude Adjustment, ©Copyright 2016 Taki Drake, All Rights Reserved.

  Introduction to An Attitude Adjustment

  Never underestimate those around you. This military science fiction tale explores the surprises that the universe holds when alien races, colonization, and society come together in a story of the relationship of command, the value of respect and building of teams. It highlights the risk of letting preconceived ideas cloud one's judgment. And why new officers should always listen to their noncoms.

  An Attitude Adjustment

  By Taki Drake

  Corvus II

  It was a tranquil scene. Only a few clouds marred the deep blue of the sky. Double suns created a dappled shadow effect on the ground. Small sounds of the animals concealed in the surrounding woods created a peaceful and low-toned backdrop for the visual scene. In this pastoral setting, the small base camp, and the moving soldiers were the only jarring notes.

  There were sentries on patrol around the small encampment, set on perimeter watch and soldiers going in and out of an entrenched sensor station. The Imperial Marine and Explorer Corps personnel were professional and thorough in their actions, reflecting the countless repetitions of training and deployed actions.

  Two sergeants roved the area like wandering predators, stalking any lapse in professionalism. After all, the ImpMEC was an elite force. The sergeants were the practical enforcers for its standards, charged with making sure that no laxness marred any ImpMEC operation.

  It was the third day of planetary occupation for the platoon. ImpMEC Central Command had assigned Bravo Company to protect and rescue duty, aimed at the relief of a small scientific group that had come under threat on the planet, Corvus II. The commander of Bravo had selected the 3rd Platoon, under the command of Lt. Marcos.

  Although that young officer was not aware of it, his commanding officer was hoping that this assignment would let the Lieutenant demonstrate an improved judgment and field command ability that up to now had been severely lacking.

  The assignment of a single platoon was all that seemed necessary. Corvus II had been peaceful and unchallenging since the initial exploration efforts had reported an unoccupied planet, years ago. Despite the concentrated action of ImpMEC, there still were few planets that were easily colonized. The discovery of a world that had no serious bar to colonization pushed Corvus II through rapid approval. Waiting lists of colonists ensured that the initial wave of settlements was accomplished in record time.

  In the three years since the planet had been cleared for settlement, four initial colony sites had been established. There were no reported problems during that period with any geographic location, environment, or habitat. Even the outlying farms that had been established experienced no more disruption than would be expected in an agricultural environment on a new planet.

  The colonists were not idle when it came to further exploration of the world. They had extensively traveled the planet, surveying sites for additional towns and villages. With a population that was smaller than 15,000, they had not expanded into those locations. Instead, plans had been created for when the population increased again during the second wave of colonization. That event was expected within the next six months after other significant milestones were reached.

  The initial planetary charter was in the process of modification. Ratification in the Imperial Assembly was well advanced, and no significant hindrance had been identified. The planetary governor position was in the throes of candidate selection. Politically, the planet was well on its way to mature participation in the assembly.

  A small group of scientists had traveled from the University of Petra to study an unusual plant that the colonists identified as a possible cash crop. The plant itself was innocuous, low-growing and dull-colored. However, it had certain medicinal properties that warranted study and evaluation.

  The xenobiology department at Petra had one of the most extensive libraries of such plants and had a field team that could be assembled quickly. Since the University expected to benefit from their participation, the competition for positions on the field team was intense. Those selected were very much aware of the benefit to their careers and fully supported any initiative that would increase the colonists chance of success.

  The 12 scientists and four support people had found a location that was ideally suited to their research, although it was somewhat remote from the other groups on the planet. With no large predators, no poisonous fauna and the extensive xenobiology experience of the study team, the security overwatch was minimal.

  The researchers had settled in without a problem. Their weekly reports to the University included only glowing results on their main study area and no reports of problems with either the colonists or the environment on Corvus II. The study program seemed to be going extremely well, and it had thickly settled into a predictable pattern of work and reporting.

  It was a major shock when the communications center in the main settlement city of Einsville received a “Mayday” call from the scientists. Reporting an attack by a group of large quadrupeds armed with some form of long-distance weapon, the panicked scientist on the radio was difficult to understand.

  What was clear from his speech was that three of the research group were dead and that four were severely injured. The embattled civilians were retreating into the most protected of their buildings and would await rescue. They would attempt to take the radio with them, but both their communications people were among the fatalities.

  Responding to the immediacy of danger, a shuttle from Einsville took off shortly after the call ended. Staffed with hunters and one peacekeeper, it was thought that whatever bizarre problem had panicked the scientists could be handled quickly. By the time the shuttle had traveled the 20-minute trip to the research base, the Einsville communications room was packed.

  The shuttle pilot was talking, “Einsville Control, we are approaching the research site clearing. There is no sign of strange animals on the path leading up to the site.”

  An excited voice could be heard in the background, indistinctly shouting. Apparently forgetting that his microphone was open, the pilot yelled, “What do you mean, centaurs? With rifles?!”

  What followed next would haunt the listeners. Screams and anguished yells could be heard from the throats of friends and relatives. The sharp reports of projectiles and the shrill whine of damaged engines punctuated the higher pitched human voices. It was evident from the cacophony that the shuttle was going down. Gasping breaths from the pilot continued to be broadcast as he fought the controls on his aircraft. Then a loud resounding smashing sound echoed through the room as the anguished listeners heard the shuttle hit the ground.

  The pilot’s voice came on again, gasping around
pain, half sobbing in anguish. “We were shot out of the sky. Four-legged uniformed soldiers. Maybe 20. Jory dead, Tom too.”

  His halting speech was interrupted by a harsh, demanding speech in a language totally unknown to any of the listeners. They heard the pilot attempt to talk to the speaker, “Please, why have you…” His disbelieving scream and the echo of a large explosion were the last things they had heard before the transmission ended.

  The Marines Have Landed

  The platoon initially landed in Einsville where Lt. Marcos had met with the mayor and council. It was apparent quite early in the meeting that the lieutenant had little respect for the civilian authorities. The young officer acted as if he was doing the colonists a favor by stopping and talking to them. Rather than listing, he spent most of his time telling him that there was no problem now that he was there to take care of the issues.

  Considering that many of the colonists had a military background, the lieutenant’s patronizing attitude did not sit well with the Council. Being told that their problems would be solved by the platoon and not to worry by the young officer seemed pure platitude to the many people that had been living with the challenge of planetary settlement. This was compounded by the lieutenant’s refusal to even look at or acknowledge the information that had been gathered in the four days between Einsville’s call for help and the platoon’s landing.

  The colonists had been busy during that time. Available arms had been distributed, the most remote of the farms had been closed down, and abandoned. Additional deployment of weather satellites had been used to increase the surveillance. Working round-the-clock with civilian equipment, pictures of a small group of soldiers had been winnowed from the monitoring records, collected and were ready to show the relieving force.

  The attackers seem to be only a small group, numbering no more than 30 beings. Measuring against known flora, it was estimated that the four-legged creatures were about the size of a Morgan horse. It was clear that in addition to four legs that the creatures, nicknamed “Centrax,” also possessed two arms.

  The imagery was too indistinct to determine the exact nature and form of their weapons. However, a demonstrated range of over 200 yards had been captured on the surveillance imagery. Since that demonstrated range involved the massacre of multiple scientists at the site, none of the reviewers were unemotional on the subject. It had only been with a great deal of difficulty that the civilian authorities have been able to prevent parties of vengeful colonists from attacking in a disorganized fashion.

  The tired and angry people reviewing the recordings were unable to agree on the exact number of soldiers. Instead, they were divided into three camps. The first insisted that there were only approximately 30 soldiers. They would disappear into densely wooded areas and then appear out of the woods in a different location periodically. While the distances were considerable, traveling that far on four legs was not impossible. The opinion of this camp was that a small mercenary group had somehow landed on the planet and was engaging in destruction and looting for an unknown reason.

  The second group disagreed in that they believed there were more than 30 beings in the invasion force. They argued that the consistent distances would have overly tired the enemy forces and that there was no apparent reason for zigzagging back and forth between the remote locations. However, they agreed with the first camp’s opinion in that the soldiers were members of an unknown mercenary or pirate force.

  Only two people made up the third viewpoint group. One was a retired Naval Intelligence Officer while the second was a former ImpMEC Master Sergeant. Neither Lt. Commander (ret.) Ryan Mueller, nor “Sarge” Hauser was satisfied with the estimates of force size or with the small mercenary group explanation. With little to go on but instincts, very few of the colonists paid the duo’s disquiet much attention.

  Lt. Marcos’ attitude ensured that this unsupported opinion was not included in any discussion. The Council heard his platitudes and announcements and watched him leave without their information, the benefit of their local knowledge, or the wisdom of their experience.

  The door had scarcely closed behind the abrasive younger man when the entire council turned to stare in disbelief at Sarge. Shrugging his shoulders, the grizzled veteran growled, “Young and stupid. Hopefully, his noncoms can rein him in.”

  Ryan smiled briefly and asked, “You will talk to them?”

  “Yah, I will brief the senior platoon sergeant on everything that we found. That way they have it, just in case.”

  Navigating Traps

  Senior Platoon Sgt. Ted Dreyer was ready to tear his hair out. Getting Lt. Marcos out of Einsville without bloodshed had been a major challenge. Every time he thought he got the lieutenant to focus, some other issue or item would catch the man’s attention, and he would abandon their top priority and go off chasing invisible squirrels. There were only so many ways to remind your officer that the number one priority should be the rescue and recovery of the group of scientists before the insubordination line would be crossed.

  Ted had cringed inside when he heard the lieutenant talking to the Council. He could not meet the eyes of any of the men and women in that room, knowing that what the platoon officer was doing was not only disrespectful but a betrayal of how ImpMEC acted. Putting a stoical expression on his face, Ted had acknowledged the nonverbal demand for a meeting that the retired master sergeant had sent his way.

  When the lieutenant had insisted on stopping by the spaceport office of the civilian logistics group that would be supplying personnel while they were on Corvus II, Ted had excused himself, citing a need to check with the other noncoms. He escaped the room and turned a corner to the left, only to be dragged into a small meeting room by the redoubtable Hauser.

  Five minutes later, Ted was on his way again. His head was spinning from the rapid briefing and the challenge of how to actually use the data on the storage device in his pocket. He had no idea what to do, but he had a bad feeling they were going to need that information sooner rather than later.

  Support and Logistics

  Lt. Marcos was fuming. It was ImpMEC’s policy to use civilian support and logistics contractors unless they were on a particular mission. When he had stopped in to get the details on his support crew, they had assembled a team of 12. According to the lieutenant, grousing to Sgt. Dreyer, the team was assembled from the dregs of available staff.

  “This is a very important mission, how dare they give me incompetent people!” complained the irate officer. “I am going to register a complaint with our commander and make sure that LogiconX never does business with ImpMEC again!”

  Ted made responsive sounds, more to keep the lieutenant talking and focused than because he agreed or even understood the issues. Support logistics staff were ongoing challenges for the regular ImpMEC personnel. Only when there were concentrated operations, like establishing beachheads on new planets, were some of the specialized logistics teams assigned. And they were never assigned to support a mere platoon.

  Finally, the platoon was headed toward the last known location of the scientific team. The shuttles came in high, watching carefully for the so-called mercenaries. There was no sign of foreign soldiers on the ground, but the destroyed research base was easily visible.

  There had been six permanent buildings erected for the researchers. One of the two barracks-like buildings looked substantially intact, although the other appeared to have been set on fire. Only the charred skeleton of that building still existed, most of it lying in ruins. The other buildings had been dedicated to joint activities. There were signs of weapons fire on the exteriors of all of them, but none of them had been burned.

  One shuttle maintained altitude, extending its sensors in an overwatch while the other landed. The Marines followed normal patterns in extending an arc of personnel, weapons ready, around the landing point. Two teams of three rapidly scouted the research base. That effort took very little time. Reporting back in, then informed the lieutenant that there wa
s no sign of life, although the bodies of three scientists had been found. There was no indication of the other force.

  Whatever his failings at interaction with civilians, the lieutenant was a competent officer when it came to establishing position and applying his troops. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the Marines had established control over the base, taken a general inventory and deployed surveillance and defensive positions.

  The lieutenant was assigning scouting patterns and duties to his Red Squad when the sound of another air shuttle broke the quiet. Charging out of the tent, Lt. Marcos started cursing, “Those stupid, incompetent, useless contractors didn’t even bother to follow protocol! If you weren’t a waste of ammunition, I would shoot them out of the sky!”

  A worn and elderly air shuttle was landing just outside the encampment. It was clearly marked with the logo and name of the civilian contractor that supplied logistics staff to ImpMEC. The door opened, and large bags and boxes started to erupt, sailing through the air and crashing to the ground. The Marines stared in astonishment at the chaos.

  After the pile of crates had grown taller than a man could reach, the flurry of unloading stopped. A group of 12 people filed out of the shuttle, led by a rotund and red-faced man. He zeroed in on Lt. Marcos and made his way directly to the speechless officer. Glancing around dismissively, he demanded, “Where are our quarters? We need to get settled there, and that should give your muscle enough time to move the crates into our working area.” The man turned away and started to rejoin his group, when he paused briefly to say over his shoulder, “Oh, I’m Lavalley, the head of this group.”

  Lt. Marcos was beyond speech. His mouth opened and closed multiple times, but no sound came out. Finally, he turned and marched back into the building that they had taken over as their platoon headquarters. Trailed by Sgt. Dreyer, the stunned man headed directly toward their communication set up.

  “Get me the blasted contractor group!” was all that he said to the communications staffer.