by Tripp Ellis
CNX-40 was a particularly nasty nerve agent. If you survived the initial exposure, you were almost sure to face permanent nerve and brain damage. But it was extremely effective in disabling large numbers of people with limited exposure. The Special Advanced Weapons Research Agency had developed an alternative that was perfectly legal under the Galactic Convention. It caused the same reaction, but without inducing death or permanent nerve damage.
Exposure to CNX-66 was fast and effective. It caused involuntary muscle contractions, profuse salivation, and convulsions. It made your mucous membranes burn like hell—all of them.
Every recruit had to experience the sensation during boot camp. We were shoved into the gas chamber, told to take off our mask and take a deep breath of the noxious chemical. Then we had to replace our mask, disassemble and reassemble our rifles, then find our way out of the chamber.
It was a horrible experience, but was supposed to condition us for a real-world chemical attack. The worst thing you can do when exposed to CNX-66 is panic. It doesn’t matter what situation you’re in, panic is never a good idea. The sensation of exposure is somewhat akin to having acid poured into your eyes and a red-hot poker shoved up your ass. Every muscle in your body cramps to the point of extreme pain. It was the kind of thing you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. But, sometimes, CNX-66 was just what the doctor ordered.
The gas came in a standard cylindrical container the size of a saltshaker. Each container was micro-chipped and had wireless connectivity. They could be deployed in numerous ways—everything from lobbing them at your enemy to remote drones.
The mosquito drones were great for recon purposes, but they were too weak to carry a payload. That’s where the STX-90s came in. They were small UAVs about the size of the palm of your hand. I carried several in my pack, as did every Marine. CNX-66 containers clamped magnetically to the underside of the drone. Like a mosquito drone, you could run pre-programmed routes with the STX-90s, fly autonomously, or control them by remote via a PDU.
The STX-90s could be used to deploy a variety of payloads. Nerve agents, teargas, smoke canisters, grenades, plasma charges—all of which utilized standard size containers.
I launched several of the drones into the tunnel. With the intensity of the CNX-66, and the confined space of the underground passageways, the rebel forces in the vicinity would be neutralized. My platoon could advance through the tunnels and provide a method of escape for Alpha platoon.
It was a good plan. It just didn’t work out exactly as I had envisioned.
7
Bodies writhed and convulsed. Muscles spasmed. Arms, legs, fingers, and toes were contorted in unnatural positions. The rebel soldiers were fraught with violent coughing spasms, drooling copious amounts of saliva from their tortured lips.
The recon footage fed back into my HUD.
The tunnel filled with thick white smoke. I led my troops into the dark, hazy passageway with my weapon in the firing position. From what I could tell, the attack had caught the rebels off guard, leaving them no time to don protective gear. But one had to be cautious—there was always a possibility that an enemy had managed to put on a mask just in time. Though rare, immunity to the effects of CNX-66 were not unheard of. Some individuals could process the chemical without ill effect.
There were thousands of enemy troops within the tunnel system, and our gas attack was only neutralizing a fraction of them. Hopefully it would be enough for us to get in and out. But if the whole hive was alerted to our presence, we’d be in deep shit.
I pushed through the murky haze, letting my heads-up display guide me through the maze of passageways. It felt oddly reminiscent of the virtual combat simulation that we ran over and over again in recruit training.
The smoke was thick, and it wrapped around me like a blanket. My skin began to itch, and I wasn’t exactly sure if it was psychological, or if the chemical was irritating my epidermis.
We moved through the sea of bodies undulating on the floor like an ocean of flesh. They were spewing bodily fluids and spasming. Despite the non-toxic nature of CNX-66, there were a few individuals who were bleeding from their orifices. Several more had stopped breathing altogether. It wasn’t as benign a substance as the research data had led to believe.
I continued to lead my platoon, snaking through the labyrinth of passageways until the smoke cleared and I could see daylight filtering in from the mouth of the tunnel. The blinding light was somewhat obscured by the shape of several enemy troops huddled in the mouth of the tunnel. The clatter of their machine guns echoed off the narrow walls as they peppered Alpha platoon’s position. They had been far enough away from the deployment of the CNX-66 so as to be unaffected by the smoke.
I lined the shadowy shapes up in my sights and squeezed the trigger. Curran and Jamison stood next to me, lighting the passageway up with muzzle flash. The amber glow illuminated our faces, reflecting off the glass of our masks.
We made short work of the small squad of rebels.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the light as we reached the edge of the tunnel. My eyes scanned the dense jungle. Muzzle flash from enemy fire flickered from multiple points throughout the thick foliage. Alpha platoon was out there somewhere in the middle of it. I could see Mad Dog’s position on my HUD.
“Mad Dog, do you copy?”
“Wasn’t sure I’d hear your voice again.”
“Ye of little faith,” I said. “I’m 50 meters west of you.”
“I’ve got your position.”
“Can you get here?” Mad Dog asked. “I took one in the leg. It looks like ground hamburger.”
“That’s attractive.”
“On the bright side, this story is going to get me laid when I get back to the world. If I get back to the world.”
“You’re getting back. Trust me,” I assured him.
“I’ve got 4 wounded that need assistance. The rest are KIA.”
“I’m going to send a squad in after you.”
“Copy that.”
I commanded Kennedy, Thackston, Slaten, and Cimo to stay in the tunnel and provide cover. “Keep an eye on your six,” I added. “Don’t let anything come through that tunnel.”
“Easier said than done,” Kennedy replied. “There’s thousands of them in there.”
“Then gas them again.”
I split the remainder of the platoon into two squads. We leapfrogged our way forward through the dense brush, trying not to draw attention. I didn’t want to announce ourselves to the world. But we started taking fire as we approached Alpha platoon’s position.
I dove to the dirt and rolled for cover behind a tree. I angled my weapon around the trunk and fired into the verdant underbrush at the flashes of muzzle-fire. Then I dashed to the next tree, inching closer to Alpha platoon.
Bullets ripped through the air as the jungle came alive with gunfire. I ran to Alpha platoon’s position and took cover behind a berm, next to Mad Dog.
“I never thought I’d be so glad to see you,” he said.
“You still owe me money from last week’s poker game. You didn’t think I was gonna let that debt slide, did you?”
Mad Dog forced a chuckle.
My eyes found his wounded leg. It was soaked in blood, and he wasn’t lying about the hamburger thing. I could see fragments of white bone emerging from the shredded flesh. The bullet had splintered the femur into a million pieces. He was lucky the bullet hadn’t severed the femoral artery, or he’d be dead now. Whether or not he was ever going to walk again without a limp was debatable.
“You ready to get out of here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “This place is kinda growing on me. It’s scenic.”
I grabbed his arm and wrapped it around my shoulder and helped him stagger to his feet. We hobbled for cover behind a nearby tree. Bullets splintered the other side, showering bark and debris. It seemed the rebels had other plans for us besides escape.
8
<
br /> Kearns and Taggart laid down suppressive fire while I helped Mad Dog move through the jungle to the next tree. Once we were secure, they advanced ahead of us while I covered for them. We leapfrogged our way back to the tunnel using this system.
Several of my men carried wounded members of Alpha platoon on their shoulders, sprinting through the thick foliage. I figured I could move faster that way as well. I picked up Mad Dog and slung him over my shoulder, then bolted for the tunnel.
It’s amazing the reserves of strength your body can muster when pumped full of adrenaline. My heart pounded, and my knees ached with every step. My back felt like it was going to snap. But I wasn’t about to stop or slow down. I’d deal with the pain and stiffness tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow.
The run to the tunnel felt like it took place in slow motion. A bad dream. A nightmare where you just couldn’t get away from the bad guy—where the stairs melted as you tried to run to the top.
Bullets cracked past my ears, whizzing in front and behind. Leaves fluttered all around as the projectiles pierced them. Tree bark showered. Geysers of dirt erupted at my feet.
My legs drove us forward, burning with lactic acid. When I reached the safety of the dim passageway, I set Mad Dog down and caught my breath. My chest was heaving, and my body was drenched with sweat. The blisters on my feet burned.
I looked back into the jungle. Kearns and Taggert barreled toward me. A few more feet and we all would have made it back to the tunnel safely.
My eyes widened at the horrific sight of Taggart’s chest exploding. He’d been shot in the back. The armor piercing round exited is chest plate, spraying glistening red blood.
He fell face first in the dirt.
I sprang to my feet without hesitation and ran back into the fray. My heart pounded, and my pulse rushed through my ears. I ran through the foliage as a hail of bullets whipped around me. My entire body felt electric as adrenaline rushed through my veins. I grabbed Taggert by his collar and dragged him toward the tunnel.
I heaved with all my might, pulling him along. I was almost there. Only five more feet to go. That’s when it felt like someone punched me in the chest. What happened after that became a blur. Like a vague, fuzzy dream. Snapshots in time. A nightmare.
My legs gave out, and I fell to the dirt. Flat on my back, my eyes stared at the green canopy above—the dappled rays of sunshine piercing through the thick leaves. Everything seemed surreal, like it was happening to someone else and I was just a casual observer.
I rolled my head to the side and saw Taggart's fixed blue eyes staring back at me. Cold and lifeless. Dirt and grime covered his face. His chest had stopped moving, and his body was soaked with blood. The ground was drinking it up like a demon feasting on the souls of humanity.
It was soaking up my blood as well.
I could smell the dirt and the gunpowder in the air. I watched an ant crawl along a blade of grass. Bullets zipped overhead. The dull ache in my chest turned into a blistering fire. My legs refused to move.
It was hard to breathe, like an elephant was stepping on my chest. Despite the jungle heat, I felt cold. A shiver ran through my body. My skin was wet and clammy. There was a bit of denial on my part. This was happening to someone else. I was going to get up and run to the tunnel any second now. I was just winded. I needed to catch my breath. That’s all.
But that optimistic thought didn't last long. I knew better.
A fuzzy shape hovered over me. I think it was Slaten. He pulled me back into the tunnel. What happened next is a blur. I remember a shot of morphine and Slaten applying pressure to the wound. Every time he pulled his hands away, they seemed to be covered in more blood.
I watched the terrified eyes of my platoon gaze at me. They had the same look in their eyes that I had worn many times, gazing upon the wounded. I could see it in their eyes… they all thought I was a goner.
I still couldn't feel my legs. I tried to move them a millimeter, but they just wouldn't budge.
At this point I probably told them to leave me behind. To get the hell out of there. I was beyond fixing, I didn't want them to bring me back. I’m sure I begged them to leave me. This was no way to go home. Put me in a box and drape a flag over it, but don’t send me home a cripple.
9
Moans and groans filled the air. The beep of a heart monitor pulsed. I pried my crusted eyes open, my vision still blurred. The room slowly came into focus.
An IV hung from a rack, and the long tube snaked down to my hand. The bed had rails, and a display monitor flashed bio-statistics. I glanced around the room at the rows and rows of hospital beds filled with wounded warriors.
The lighting was dim. Bright light spilled in through the hatch from the neighboring corridor. I assumed it was the middle of the night as most patients were sleeping, or trying to sleep. Across the compartment, a nurse attended to an IV line for another patient.
A large bank of windows offered a stunning view of the cosmos. I wasn’t on Kronos anymore.
I looked around at my fellow patients. The guy next to me was covered from head to toe in bandages. Blood blossomed through at several points, soaking the white gauze. Another patient was in traction—the device looked like something out of a medieval torture chamber. Another Marine with a broken leg had a halo cage around his thigh with long pins penetrating his skin. Some patients were missing limbs. Others were covered in burns. It was a horrid sight.
I tried to sit up but quickly realized that was a bad idea. Pain shot through my chest. In that moment, the memory of the battlefield came rushing back to me. I had existed, temporarily, in a somewhat blissful state of ignorance when I first awoke. I didn’t know where I was, or what had happened. It was like waking up from a bad dream, only to realize that I was still in the thick of the nightmare.
I could move my hands. But my legs were still immovable objects. I couldn’t even force the slightest wiggle of my toes. I clenched my jaw and strained with all my might. My face turned red, and the veins in my neck bulged, but no amount of effort provided even minor movement.
I exhaled with frustration. A wave of panic washed over my body. I felt sick to my stomach. My skin grew cold and clammy again. I felt trapped. Imprisoned in a broken body. Was I ever going to be able to walk again?
Surely modern medicine could fix me, right?
The nurse took notice of my conscious state and trotted across the compartment. She flashed a reassuring smile and seemed pleased that I was awake.
“Where am I?” My mouth was pasty, and I could barely choke the words out.
“You’re aboard the USNS Mercy, in orbit around Kronos. You were injured in combat, triaged and stabilized at the base medical facility, then transported here where you underwent advanced robotic surgery.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Almost a week.” She looked over my chart and checked my vitals.
She was definitely a sight for sore eyes. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, and a generally perky demeanor. I could think of a lot of things worse to wake up to.
“I can’t move my legs.” My voice trembled slightly as I said the words.
She tried to hide a frown. “It’s early yet. You’ve got a long recovery ahead of you.” She paused. “The doctor will be in tomorrow to discuss the specifics of your case.”
“Am I going to be able to walk again?”
“I really can’t discuss specifics of your medical situation or make guesses at your recovery. I’m just a nurse.”
My face tensed. I’m sure she could see that I was getting frustrated with the situation.
“Try to stay positive. You’re young and strong. I’ve seen cases that looked hopeless turn around and make a full recovery.” Her voice was calm and soothing. She had a pleasant way about her. I wondered how many people like me she had seen. Day in and day out she dealt with the worst of the war. It seemed that kind of thing could drag a person down over time, but she managed not to let it affect her spirit. Eit
her that, or she put on a good act.
“Here’s the call button. My name is Delilah. I’m just a click away if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
She flashed another smile, then started out of the compartment.
“Excuse me. Where are my personal belongings?”
“All of your personal items from the base were transferred here. I have them in a storage locker. Is there something in particular you need?”
My face crinkled, a little confused at first. Then it made sense to me. I wasn’t going back to Kronos. My injury was significant enough that I was likely going to be discharged. My heart sank again. My throat went dry and my eyes brimmed. All I ever wanted was to be a Marine. And those days had come to an end.
10
Doctor Jackson projected a 3D hologram above my bed that detailed my injuries. He zoomed in on the shattered vertebra and damaged spinal column. He showed before and after scans. Metal plates held my spinal column together.
“As you can see, we stabilized the spinal column and repaired the damage to your lung and soft tissue.” He seemed pleased with his accomplishments.
Doctor Jackson was in his early 50s with white hair and a clean-shaven face. He had a little rosacea around his cheeks and nose. He wore a white lab coat and had an old-fashioned stethoscope draped around his neck. There were better ways to check a person’s respiratory function, but he was old-school. He liked to actually listen to a person’s breathing. His round face was friendly, but he looked tired. He had a constant stream of new patients, and that wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.
“What about the spinal cord?”
He hesitated, and a grim look washed over his face. “I injected a regenerative compound during the surgery. You suffered damage at the L1 vertebra. Nerve conductivity tests indicate sacral sparing, so you’re lucky in that regard. Its what we call an incomplete injury. Are you having any bladder or bowel difficulty?”
