Space: Above and Beyond 1 - Space: Above and Beyond

by Peter Telep

  "Already have it," she said, tapping the small, rectangular, positioning device clipped to her waist.

  Hold back. Don't go off on him yet. Let him push it a little farther...

  Pags and Stone returned from the supply room, each toting an M-590 photon rifle. They joined Damphousse, Wang, and Bartley in the air lock, then disappeared behind the door.

  Through his helmet's link, Hawkes heard them gasp, nearly in unison.

  "This is incredible," Damphousse said.

  Wang began dedicating each of his steps, then Pags and Damphousse joined him.

  Carter was annoyed and wasn't shy about it. "People! Turn off your links while you're doing that!"

  The door opened and Hawkes filed into the air lock with the rest of the Marines. The inner hatch sealed and the outer hatch slammed onto the ground, abruptly revealing the Hellas Plains.

  "Join the service and see other worlds," Low muttered.

  They crossed onto the sandy Martian soil. According to the briefing, high levels of iron oxide gave the landscape its rust color. Beyond the other five camouflaged Marines who had fanned out for a better look, Hawkes could see faint columns of dust that swayed like charmed cobras above the dunes. There wasn't much to view past the sand, save for a pink-gray sky that dimmed into the horizon.

  Hawkes turned and headed back toward the troop cylinder, his legs feeling odd in the weaker gravity.

  "Hawkes, where are you going?"

  He stormed past West without answering. Then, a few steps from the air lock, he paused and looked back at the group, most of whom had their backs to him. "Hey! What're you doing, looking to buy real estate? There's a war on. Everyone back inside and break out the gear."

  Then, as he had suspected they would, all of the Marines looked to West, and all of them probably couldn't believe that a tank was giving orders.

  The visor of Nathan's helmet caught the sun and fired a dazzling reflection at Hawkes. He couldn't see West, but he guessed that by now the Marine's face was flushed. "First we secure our position. Low..."

  After unclipping the Global Positioning System from her waist, the short Asian woman aimed it at the horizon.

  "Our position is out in the middle of nowhere," Hawkes said. "There. Secured. Now. Everyone back inside."

  Nathan took a step toward Hawkes, his helmet no longer reflecting the glint of the sun. West's face was red, all right. "The H.I.S.T. manual states—"

  "The manual? When they drop us in the middle of a hairy-ass furball, you gonna take time to check the manual?"

  West appeared flustered, at a loss. Perfect. He threw up his hands. "Do what you want. I'd be happy to see you take one the second we're in battle. We're doin' it the way we've been told." Hotshot strode away, thinking he was going to get the last word.

  "That's right. Follow their rules. They'll just keep takin' from ya... and you'll let 'em. You ain't ever gonna get to Tellus that way."

  West froze. He bowed his head—

  Struck a nerve, eh?

  West whirled and then charged at him.

  "Nathan!"

  "What's he doing?"

  "Oh, man. Don't ruin this."

  "Somebody's gonna get hurt."

  "Don't do it, West!"

  "Pags! Stone! Get over here!"

  Hawkes lifted his gloved fists. West came within a yard, but was bear-hugged from behind by Pags.

  Suddenly, someone grabbed one of his wrists and twisted his arm behind his back.

  A lock was opened in Hawkes's mind.

  And his rage stepped out, a free beast in the cell block.

  Twisting to face the Marine holding him, Hawkes tried to wrench his arm out of—it turned out to be—Stone's grip. "You ain't getting away from me, Hawkes," the big Marine said, his voice edged with exertion.

  Oh, yeah?

  One tug, backed by his rage, and Hawkes was free. He aimed for West, who had broken out of Pags's hold. Hawkes threw himself on Nathan, and the two of them went down, digging a shallow crater.

  Clinging to Hawkes's suit, West managed to roll him over and pin him, then jab him in the chest with a right, a left, another right, before Hawkes could grab West's suit near the shoulder and yank him off.

  Hawkes scooped a handful of sand and threw it at West's helmet, blocking his view for a second—a second which he exploited by driving his elbow into West's groin.

  "Yaow!"

  What's the matter, tough guy?

  As West began to curl into a fetal position, nursing his groin, Hawkes climbed on top of the Marine, ready to pin him and speak the words Mr. Nathan West desperately needed to hear: he was not, nor had he ever been, team leader.

  But West snapped out of his curl, sent a knee into Hawkes's groin and kept it there, utilizing it and his hands to toss Hawkes up and away. One moment Hawkes had been preparing his victory speech, the next he was lying supine across the Martian surface.

  "Now we're gonna finish this!" West screamed.

  Hawkes bolted upright, growling, panting, his temples throbbing. "Come on. Come on!" As he leaned forward in an effort to stand, he saw Pags slip behind West and seize his suit near the neckline.

  Then Hawkes felt someone grab his own suit in the same fashion. Pags drove West down into Hawkes, their helmets striking each other with such a force that Hawkes was knocked flat and swore he heard his oxygen supply hissing away.

  But the hissing was coming through his link; the volume control must have been maxed during the fight. He gazed to his left and saw West lying beside him, Mr. Hotshot's chest rising and falling.

  Slowly, Hawkes went up on an elbow. He tried to blink off the dizziness, but it didn't want to fade. Next to him, he heard West moan as he sat up.

  Shane circled around to stand in front of them. Her gaze was directed at Nathan. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

  Then she scowled at Hawkes. "And you knock it off. You think we're going to blow it because you two boys need to prove something?"

  Hawkes stared through her. Neither he nor West acknowledged Shane.

  "We're drivin' on," she added, her temper mounting. "So you two had better mature real fast, or—and I swear this—you'll both stay in the vehicle while the rest of us get the job done. Oh, yeah. And your conduct will show up in all of our reports."

  "Right on," Stone said. "Act like kids, be treated like kids."

  Shane stomped away, and Hawkes noticed that everyone was looking toward her, impressed. She stopped, lowered her head a moment, then faced Michele Low. "Now, Low, tell West our position."

  Like everyone else, the young woman wasn't looking at West but at Shane. Hawkes felt the trace of a grin pass over his lips. They wanted Shane to be the team leader.

  Visibly shaken by the fact that everyone was staring at her, Shane looked off, plainly disgusted.

  Hawkes wouldn't mind if Shane were the boss. She was smarter than West, and tougher. Trouble was, she didn't want the job. Hawkes's luck.

  Finally, Low made it known who she wanted to follow. She took a step toward Shane, holding out her GPS. "We're on the southeast rim, 45 by 271."

  "I heard they were getting ready to terraform this sector. That true?" Wang asked, in a weak attempt to lift everyone out of the awkwardness of the moment.

  Pags withdrew a copy of the briefing from a hip pocket on his suit. He unfolded it, studied it a second, then crossed to Shane. "The tracking drone is about four klicks east from here."

  Shane nodded, then shut her eyes—as if preparing for the bad medicine of being leader—and said, "Okay. We'll gear up and move out." She kept her head bowed and started for the ship with Wang, Low, Damphousse, and Stone following.

  Then the others fell in line, including West, who had miraculously managed to get up. Hawkes rolled onto all fours, then tried once, twice, to stand.

  A shadow passed over the soil. It was Pags, proffering his hand.

  "I can get up myself."

  "Probably. But it looks like you could use a hand—and I'm offerin' one
."

  Hawkes tried to read an ulterior motive in Pags's expression, but there seemed nothing but honesty there. He glanced at the hand, then took it.

  On his feet, Hawkes brushed dirt from his arms and knees. "Ain't easy for me to recognize a helping hand."

  "If that's a thank you, don't worry about it," Pags answered. "Someday you'll pay me back."

  Hawkes didn't like owing anything to anyone, but it was too late. At least Pags didn't seem the type who would call in the favor any time soon.

  It was odd, but for the first time since becoming a Marine, Hawkes felt that he belonged. Someone had reached out to him, someone half-blind to who he was. Maybe he wouldn't get himself thrown out of the Corps after all. Maybe he'd stick it out. Who knows what could happen then?

  thirteen

  By the time they were two kilometers closer to the tracking drone, the Martian wind waged a private war against the Marines. Twice Nathan felt himself about to topple, and twice he struggled to stay on his feet. The wind foretold something Nathan didn't want to consider, but it reared its ugly head nonetheless.

  His first thought: send the tank out there alone to confirm or deny the horrible fact. But Shane wouldn't like that, and he was tired of fighting with Hawkes anyway. Better to just ignore him. Let him screw up and wash out on his own. That wouldn't be too hard for him.

  They trudged single file, ascending an enormous red sand dune, Shane at point, Nathan close behind. Their footprints were swept away in seconds, giving Nathan the eerie, disoriented feeling that the group had simply appeared in the middle of the dunes.

  "I'm no expert," Stone said. "But I remember reading something from a disc once about a Martian dust storm back in 1971. Within seven days it encompassed a sector 6,000 kilometers across. I think it took like another two weeks to envelop the rest of the planet."

  "Now here's a man who knows how to build morale," Pags quipped.

  "Low, why don't you grab a satellite image—just to settle my stomach," Carter said.

  "Good idea," Nathan added.

  "On it."

  "This sucks," Wang said.

  "The hike, the planet, the Corps, what?" Damphousse asked.

  "I think I got a rock in my shoe."

  "Impossible. You're sealed, pressurized."

  "I'm telling you I got a rock in my shoe."

  "Uh, excuse me," Low said. "But Shane, I think you'd better take a look at this."

  Nathan put his hand up, signaling the group to halt. He and Shane went to Low, who held up the pocket-sized Satellite Image Receiver so that they could see a digitized view of the plains taken from orbit.

  Low pointed to a dark blob that Nathan wanted to believe was dirt on the screen. "Don't even say it," he told her.

  Shane sighed deeply and slumped. "Say it."

  Low touched a button on the SIR. The image zoomed in on the blob. A data table appeared on the right side of the screen. "Storm is moving at three klicks per hour, with wind speeds varying from a hundred to two hundred kilometers per hour at its eye."

  "Damn," Nathan said, then looked away.

  "All right. So we ride it out. Three klicks an hour. What's the storm's diameter?"

  "Well, it's not exactly circular, but I know what you're looking for. It'll take about fifty-five minutes for it to pass over our position."

  "This sucks," Wang said. And it was obvious he wasn't talking about a rock in his shoe.

  "I say we turn around and beat the thing back to the ship," Bartley offered. "We don't have shelter. And those winds... we don't know what's flying around in them."

  "We might be flying around in them soon," Pags said.

  Stone hesitated, then said, "At the risk of sounding like a cliché, we're Marines, first in, last out. I'd rather face that storm than a couple of wings of those aliens."

  "I'm in," Damphousse said.

  "Me too," Wang added, resignedly.

  "Aw, hell, let's do it," Carter granted.

  Damphousse pointed to Hawkes. "What about you, Coop?"

  The tank scanned the horizon, holding a hand up to his helmet to block the glare. "We came this far...."

  Pags folded his arms across his chest. "What I wanna know is if we're gonna ride this storm, then how the hell are we gonna do it? Just stand here and see what happens?"

  Nathan looked to Shane. "We don't have—" He cursed at himself for opening his mouth.

  "We'll hold hands," Shane said.

  Carter snickered. "Yeah, right."

  Shane went to the man and seized his hand. Then she turned and snatched Wang's hand. "We're a team," she began slowly. "Gung ho. Working together. We sit in a circle, no one out of sight, no one out of reach. We keep our heads low, our gear packed tight, and we wait."

  "And pray," Wang added somberly.

  Nathan found himself smiling at Shane. An incredible woman had emerged from a tortured child. He still had a lot to learn, but she, she understood the moment better than anyone. He envied her, but that feeling did not go so far as to make him refuse to obey her. In fact, looking at Shane as she inspired the group, he felt utterly proud to know her.

  "Hey, if we sit near the crest of the dune, on the back side of it, maybe the side facing the storm will act as a slight buffer," Hawkes said.

  Shane bought the proposal with a nod. "Let's do it." She started for the head of the line.

  Surprise, the tank has a good idea. He's actually interested in what's going on around him.

  It took fifteen minutes to reach the crest of the dune. They settled into a tight circle, made sure their packs were strapped snugly onto then backs, then rifles slung across their chests. Nathan sat between Shane and Pags. He took their hands, then scanned the faces around him: Hawkes looked vacant, Wang licked his lips and swallowed, Low creased her brow in worry, Carter actually looked bored. Pags, Damphousse, Stone, and Bartley wore identical expressions: lost in thought, each assumedly in a personal vision of what the storm would be like.

  A circle. Hands held. It was necessary. Practical. Gave them hope. Indeed, they were a group of people sharing an interest: survival. But Nathan couldn't help but see the spirituality of the union. Nathan remembered how, whenever his grandparents would come over for a holiday dinner, everyone would hold hands at the table and say a prayer before eating. Billions upon billions of families had done the same thing over the centuries. Now, ten Marines sat a very long way from home, holding hands and perhaps thanking God in advance for his mercy.

  Low broke her grip with Wang and looked at her SIR. "Dust storm ETA: Nineteen seconds!" Frantically, she clipped the device back onto her suit, just as Wang retook her hand.

  Nathan felt the ground quiver. He had switched his link so that he could monitor both the troop channel and the external noise of the planet.

  He almost wished he hadn't.

  The dust storm hit, an invisible, caterwauling hammer striking a continuous blow. Within a millisecond, wind-whipped sand turned day into night and buffeted his suit as if fired from a high-powered weapon.

  His nerves made their way to his throat and gave him a keen sense for the obvious. "Hang on!"

  Nathan looked back to the once-sharp crest of the dune; layer upon layer of it was being stripped away, the storm filing their shield down to a blunt edge.

  Ahead, Cooper, Wang, Low, and Carter, were indistinct amid the torrents of sand. Pags and Damphousse were partly visible, and it shocked Nathan to see that they were being buried. Then he looked down. His lap was gone, covered.

  "We might have to stand!" Shane said.

  "Let's wait!" Damphousse said. "We'll only give the storm a bigger target that way."

  In one sense she was right. But if they were buried over their heads, yes, they could still breathe, but getting out....

  Things remained constant for the next twenty minutes, after which two things occurred.

  The wind died to about half its former speed, and Shane ordered everyone to stand, which took about five minutes, as they were buried u
p to their waists.

  With his legs sunk in to calf-height, Nathan felt confident about his footing. The surrounding sand aided in his balance. Even if the wind picked up, he still felt rooted enough to resist it.

  Then Bartley's earlier question of what was flying around in the wind was answered.

  Most of the rocks had collected at the tail end of the storm for a reason that was beyond Nathan. The sand had been bad enough. Now missiles varying in size from plums to grapefruit pelted the Marines.

  Wang screamed and dropped to his knees, dragging Hawkes and Low with him. Stone and Carter no longer liked the odds of standing and opted to sit, tucking their helmeted heads into their chests.

  A rock hit the back of Nathan's helmet just as Shane yanked him down, and he swore aloud. He leaned forward as far as he could, trying to keep his head low. He was breathing so heavily that he fogged his visor, but he wasn't about to reach back and drop his suit's temperature to adjust for the imbalance.

  To someone not in it, the storm presented a curious dilemma: suit-breaching rocks above, swiftly rising sand below. Presently, Nathan concluded that the sand was the lesser of two Martian evils.

  Shane called roll for the third time since the storm had begun. Eight names shot back at her over the link, then Nathan added his own.

  As the sand continued to rise and the rocks streaked overhead, a few grazing his helmet, Nathan felt the increasing desire to fight back instead of quivering like a coward against a malevolent but flawed opponent. If Low's math was correct, less than one quarter of the storm was left. He could stand and make a mad rush for the clear air beyond, and, perhaps, the others would follow.

  Idiot. Is that working together? Yes, you still have a lot to learn. You're not a coward for lying here. Your presence helps the group.

  In a few more moments the storm slowly dropped off into a whimper. Grains of sand peeled away from deeper layers, slowly, artistically, silently. Nathan lifted his head and saw his shadow in the sand. He didn't have to look back to know the sky was clear, the sun shining. Were this the moment after a total eclipse on Earth, the insects would begin to hum, and the birds would resume their chirping. Roosters would announce morning at 5:00 in the afternoon.