Grunt Hero

by Weston Ochse

  “Yeah. Stranz.”

  “Is he all right? Did he make it back?”

  She nodded as we continued walking. “He did. He was fitted with a prosthetic, but he doesn’t like to wear it.”

  I tried to imagine losing an arm and just couldn’t. “Can I see him, you think?”

  Ohirra laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You asked if you could see him,” Olivares replied. “That’s funny.”

  “Why is that so funny?”

  “Because he’s already on your team,” he said.

  My heart bounced. “He’s what?”

  “You heard me,” Olivares said. “Stranz is on your team.”

  My mouth went dry. “Are you sure it’s something he wants?”

  “He requested it.”

  But why he would do such a thing? “Sula passed,” Ohirra said suddenly.

  “She what? She’s dead?” I remembered Sula Ali and how bad ass she was for such a little young woman. Then I flashed to the moment where Malcom Macabre had taken the RPG round to save her. “How?”

  “Appendicitis.”

  “But that’s curable. That’s an easy operation.” Then I realized. Everything had been easy before the invasion. The Cray had killed her as surely as if they’d ripped her apart. “Did she suffer?”

  Olivares shook his head. “By the time she got to medical, she was septic and out of it. The docs put her under. It was all they could do.”

  I hated the universe for killing Sula. She should have died in battle, not on a stainless steel table. Then I asked, “Malrimple has cancer, doesn’t he?”

  “Pancreatic,” Ohirra said. “It’s supposed to be very painful.”

  “And of course there’s no cure,” I said.

  “There was a treatment. The NUSNA offered him treatment at Bethesda,” she said, pronouncing the initials as noosna, meaning the New United States of North America.

  “But he didn’t take it.” I concluded.

  “He wanted to finish his work,” Olivares said with a grim nod. “Gotta respect that. There was about a fifty percent chance he would have survived the treatment. He said fuck that and went back to work.”

  “How long does he have?” I asked.

  Olivares harrumphed. “How long do any of us have?”

  “Word that.” We walked for about five more minutes before Olivares started laughing.

  Both Ohirra and I glanced at him, trying to figure out what was so funny.

  Olivares looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Did you really call him Pinkster?”

  I couldn’t help my grin. “Yeah, I think I did.”

  “And all of that while smiling,” Olivares said. “You looked like a maniac.”

  I chuckled. I’d felt like a maniac.

  Ohirra joined in. “Man, I thought you were crazy there for a moment.”

  “I think I was.” I grinned again. “Crazy. For a moment. But I’m better now.”

  “Good, because this is some trippy shit going on right now and everyone needs their heads on straight,” Olivares said.

  Trippy shit indeed.

  We walked.

  We talked.

  We rehashed old times.

  Then the first siren rang out and we were running back to our hangars and wondering what kind of intergalactic shit had just hit the fan.

  The only thing that makes battle psychologically tolerable is the brotherhood among soldiers. You need each other to get by.

  Sebastian Junger

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I WAS HALFWAY back when a voice slammed into my head. To keep from falling, I went to one knee. Olivares and Ohirra did the same. Were they hearing the voice too?

  Alert. Alert. Mission critical. Evacuate Fort Irwin immediately and achieve at least a thirty mile stand-off distance.

  The message repeated itself over and over. The voice was familiar but it wasn’t Thompson. Then I recognized it—HMID Salinas. The guy who’d cracked the Hypercrealiac language.

  Olivares was the first to stand. He glared around, wide-eyed.

  I got up next, feeling a little nauseous, Olivares helping me to my feet.

  I looked at him. “You, too?”

  He nodded and wiped the sheen of sweat off his face. “Most of us did. Not as bad a process as when you went through.” He held the side of his head. “It has its uses. Like HMID alerts.”

  Ohirra joined us. “Are we really under attack?”

  “Didn’t your intel pick up anything?” Olivares asked.

  She shook her head.

  Now that I had my faculties back, I could think more clearly. I pointed to Ohirra. “Get back to HQ and find out what’s going on.” Then I pointed at Olivares. “You, come with me. Let’s get the EXOs ready to move.”

  As we were running I asked, “Can we talk to each other like HMIDs talk to us?”

  Olivares chuckled. “Dude, wake up. That’s pure science fiction.”

  We passed a group running toward the flight line. Had everyone undergone the procedure? I remembered when I’d been infected and had no control over my body. Surely they’d created a better way to inoculate against the zombie spore. It had taken months for me to recover.

  We ran into the hangar and were gratified to see it alive with activity.

  Thompson, can you read me? I shouted inside my head. Thompson are you there?

  Gimme a second, boss, came his harried voice, then he was gone.

  I moved to my crew. Earl and Pearl were already in their EXOs. Charlemagne was helping the techs make the last few adjustments on the spidertank’s cockpit blister. Three other EXOs stood beside the twins. I immediately recognized the face in the EXO on the left and went up to it.

  “Stranz,” I said.

  “Morning Lieutenant.” He smiled slightly, but his eyes were pure steel. I wondered what he really thought about me.

  I grinned. “Morning. Glad to see you, especially after…” I glanced at his right arm. Although I couldn’t see it inside the sleeve of the EXO, I knew where I’d sliced through it.

  “Don’t worry about it, L.T. Shit happens.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t worried, but I was going to pay attention. “Who are your friends, Sergeant?”

  “The galoot to my left is Cooper. Came from Chicago.”

  A wide African-American face stared at me from within the faceplate of the center EXO.

  “Call me Coops,” he said. “Corporal Coops.”

  To his right was another female, African-American also.

  “And the other corporal is Francine Channing. Former Royal Marines.”

  “Lefttenant,” she said, using the British pronunciation. “I go by Chance. Heard some bloody good stories about you.”

  I glanced at Stranz. “Don’t believe them unless it’s from this guy. He’s one of the best.”

  Earl jumped in. “Know what’s going on boss?”

  I only got a moment, Mason. Let me give you the run down.

  I held up a hand to my squad, turned to the wall, then put both hands over my ears so I could concentrate.

  What’s the scoop, Thompson?

  Ever felt like you’ve been pushed toward doing things, that events had been predetermined?

  You’ve just described the life of a grunt, Thompson. What’s wrong? You HMIDs feeling down?

  Something like that. I can’t go completely into it, but know this. Everything all of us has done has been pre-planned by the aliens. They knew everything about every step, each step a gateway to a response. And once contact was made with the new alien species, the Hypercrealiacs instituted an Armageddon Protocol.

  What the fuck is that? Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

  All concentrations of military forces are going to be bombarded from space. It’s already begun. Elements in Russia and China have already been annihilated. Adjusting for the rotation of the Earth, you can anticipate the same for your location in just under seven hours.

  When you say a
nnihilated you mean—

  Blown to smithereens. Fine red mist. Somehow the aliens are raining asteroids down onto the planet. You have to get OMBRA out of there or none of you will survive. Treat this as an extinction level event, Mason, and realize that there’s a reason that the Hypercrealiacs suddenly decided to pay attention.

  And why is that?

  We think it’s because for the first time since they invaded our planet they are actually afraid.

  He signed off, leaving me with a maelstrom of thoughts. Asteroids. Bombardment. The aliens afraid. Jesus wept.

  I spun and shouted. “Everyone, give me your undivided attention now.”

  Half the people in the hangar stopped what they were doing and looked curiously my way.

  Stranz stepped forward and let five rounds rip through the ceiling. Dust fell with the silence.

  I nodded my thanks, found a box and stood on it. “Listen up, grunts. OMBRA is about to be attacked in a big way. We have less than seven hours to get the hell away from here before asteroids come raining from the sky. We’re not sure how far away we have to be, but I won’t feel comfortable until we have at least a hundred miles between us and here. Everyone get in your EXOs. Load them with all the ammo they’ll carry and charge them up. I want everyone ready to leave in six zero mikes.”

  I let the words sink in for a moment.

  “Sergeant Stranz,” I shouted.

  “Yes sir, L.T.”

  “Make sure everyone does PMCS on their rattletrap EXOs and that they are ready to move when ordered.”

  “Roger, L.T.”

  I turned to Olivares, who was placing a magazine into the back of his EXO. “Let’s suit up and go see what Mr. Pink needs.”

  Within moments we were running towards HQ in our EXOs. Mine was the larger white version OMBRA had augmented for northern recon. His was smaller by a third. Once painted red and black, it was now covered in deep scratches from Cray claws and dents from God knows what else.

  We both had to duck to make it through the door of the HQ building. We took the stairs in leaps. When we rounded the corner to the second floor a woman screamed and dropped the box she’d been carrying. She recovered quickly once she realized who and what we were. She’d probably never seen an EXO this close. Most people never had because it meant bad shit was about to happen.

  The conference room was empty and everyone had crowded into Pink’s office. We entered into a cacophony of shouting. Angry insults were being hurled from the garrison commander at Malrimple.

  “There’s no way I’m letting my troops not evacuate their families. Those trucks belong to me and if I say I want to use them to save the women and children, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

  Malrimple tried to keep his voice even. “This is beyond chivalry. We need to keep the science team working.”

  The garrison commander glanced at the aide standing beside him. “This is so much bullshit.”Malrimple sighed and looked to Mr. Pink for help. “It’s the way it has to be.”

  “You’re not getting my fucking trucks.”

  “Women and children aren’t going to save the world. My science team is.”

  Mr. Pink stood behind his desk, looking shell shocked. He clearly wasn’t up for this. Seeing him unable to respond was a first. He’d always been able to handle any situation.

  Ohirra stood at his side. She gave me a pained look that seemed like it was meant to urge me to do something.

  I took Stranz’s example, but instead of shooting holes in the ceiling and possibly killing people on the third floor, I aimed at one of the filing cabinets, spun up my minigun, and fired three rounds into it. The room immediately fell silent, the only sound the whining of the barrels as they rolled to a stop.

  “What’s the issue?” I asked, aware that my speaker-delivered words were loud enough to make those in the room wince.

  Mr. Pink was staring at me, his face still blank.

  “Lieutenant, stand down,” said the garrison commander. His name was Colonel Reynolds and was an all right sort. He just wanted to take care of his soldiers and their families.

  I glanced at Malrimple, who looked to be one step into the grave. He was an all right sort, too. He just wanted to take care of his scientists.

  “What’s the issue?” I repeated.

  “We’ve got this, Lieutenant.” Colonel Reynolds put his hands on his hips, as if that would change my mind. He’d once bought me a drink in celebration of that Hero of the Mound nonsense. He’d been upset that he’d never been allowed to fight. He was a logistics officer, pure and simple. He’d seemed embarrassed that he’d never fired his weapon.

  I guess we’d see how much he liked me now.

  “Not sure why you want to cast Mr. Pink in the role of King Solomon,” I said, “but if you want half of your soldiers and the women and children on Fort Irwin to be left behind along with half of the scientists, then you’ve achieved your wishes.”

  The colonel sputtered. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

  “King Solomon. It’s in the bible. Read it when you get the chance.” I stepped forward, making everyone step back. “Listen, we have less than seven hours before the spot you’re arguing on ceases to exist. You shouldn’t be here. You should be out there.” I jerked my hand towards the window.

  “Listen, Mason,” Malrimple began. “You and I have had our moments—”

  I grinned and shook my head. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  “This is bullshit,” said Reynolds, poking the chest of my EXO. “I’m not taking orders from a subordinate. Stand down, Lieutenant.”

  I didn’t move.

  Olivares stepped up and stood next to me. Although his EXO was smaller than mine, it was still head and shoulders taller than the garrison commander.

  Reynolds stopped poking me and tried to stand tall enough to stare into my faceplate. “I said, stand down.”

  “I don’t recognize your authority.” I let that turd fall between us. As his face began to go red, I added, “Now what are you going to do?” I leaned in close. “This is the end of the fucking world, so at the very least you could figure out a way to work together.” I marched over to the map on the wall. “Ohirra, how many trips could we make in the next six hours between Barstow and the Bicycle Lake Airfield here?”

  She grinned slightly, then lowered her head as she did the math. “Given the number of C-130s at our disposal we could make four sorties of five aircraft. With one Spectre and the other four military variants we could transfer a total of 900 people in that period.”

  “But there’s no airfield in Barstow!” Reynolds said.

  “Then use the interstate or the desert. C-130s were made for combat takeoffs and landings. It can be done. Once the civilians reach Barstow, they can continue heading south. Meanwhile, military vehicles can be used to evacuate the remaining military and scientists south along this route and southeast across the desert.”

  Reynolds made a face like he’d just been forced to eat a shit pie. “So that’s it, then.”

  I nodded. “Not unless you have a better plan.”

  “One problem with that,” Malrimple said.

  “Which is?”

  “We’re going to need some dedicated transportation for three HMIDs.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t be done.”

  “Listen, Mason, I know you hate them, but they’ve been necessary to our continued existence. Without them we wouldn’t have even known a threat existed.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not the reason.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Power. How long can they live without a consistent power supply?”

  Malrimple stared at me, then his eyes lowered. “They can’t. They need constant power.”

  “Will you be able to provide it to them?”

  “If we use the HEMMETs, we can tie into one of the onboard generators.”

  “How many Dragon Wagons do you have?” I asked the Garrison Commander.

  He stared
at me but refused to answer.

  “Seriously? You’re going to act like a child about this? How many?”

  He seemed as though he was about to speak, but shook his head instead. Thankfully his aide seemed to understand the significance of the moment, and he answered. “Three. We have three functioning HEMMETs. All are the LHS variant which will allow them to load and unload equipment up to eleven feet long and weighing ten tons.”

  I turned back to Malrimple. “Let’s say you have three HEMMETs. Then what?”

  “We were going to use the Railhead at Yermo. If we could transport them there, we have a flatbed which could help us move them to a safe distance. We’d planned to tap into one of the generators on the engine.”

  “How long would it take?”

  Malrimple looked hopeful. “About five hours from start to tie-in on the train engine. Maybe less.”

  I thought about it. He said five hours, but that was probably an optimistic number. Yermo was too close to Fort Irwin. My guess was that anything within a hundred miles would be inside the range of the asteroids.

  “What were you going to use the HEMMETs for?” I asked the aide.

  “CONEXs with food and water. It’s not enough to merely evacuate. We have to ensure survivability as well.” He glanced at the commander, then back at me. “Know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “Definitely. Proceed with your plans.”

  It took a few moments for Malrimple to realize I’d turned him down. He started to argue, then shook his head and left.

  The room was silent for ten seconds, then Ohirra said, “Mason?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just wanted you to know that HMID Thompson was relocated from L.A. to Fort Irwin four months ago.”

  “I thought he was in Los Angeles.”

  “We needed to better protect him. Plus, now that we have—or had—the ability to tap into the Hypercrealiacs communication systems, we had no reason for him to be forward deployed. He could function here as well as anywhere.”

  “So he’s one of the three.” I closed my eyes. “Do you think he knows?”

  I know, Ben.

  I sighed. “Yup. He knows.” To Ohirra I said, “Can you get the evacuations started and see if you can get Mr. Pink back to his bad old self?”