Markov's Prize

by Mark Barber

  “You were saying something about me being a mistake, right?”

  “Right,” Tahl said weakly, his resolve failing.

  “That’s guilt,” Rhona said, “what you’re saying right now is because you feel guilty about doing morally the wrong thing, and you’re scared about being found out and breaking regulations an’ all that crap. You’ve done nothing wrong, I told you that before. Believe me, I know what I’m doing, and I don’t need you to protect my feelings or make my mind up for me. I’m kinda good at doing that myself. So that’s that done. And as for breaking regs? Yeah. If we get found out, we’re screwed. But I really like that. How far is it to HQ?”

  “What? Another half hour, I guess?” Tahl stumbled on his words.

  “Cool,” Rhona said, unbuttoning her shirt, “because I’ve got a great idea about how we can kill some time and how I can prove that I’m worth the risk.”

  ***

  Firebase Ghia Accomodation

  Pariton District

  Markov’s Prize

  L-Day plus 63

  The room shook again, a little more violently this time, still not much, but enough to shake a few small piles of dust from the top of the light fittings. Rechter glanced up at the lights from where he lay on his bunk. He was glad of the shard connection, the feeling of indifference which flowed over him from the more experienced soldiers in the squad accommodation area. Without that connection, he had little doubt that his niggling sensation of fear would be full blown terror. He looked back down at his datapad and continued to compose a message to his wife, his thoughts appearing as words on the screen as soon as he had mentally confirmed them.

  “It’s not so bad now,” Clythe continued his conversation from where he sat in the center of the squad’s communal area. “When the Ghar first arrived, they had those horrific, great battlesuits everywhere. That was bad enough. On top of that, they also had…”

  “Plasma amplifiers,” Meibal folded her arms from her position stood bolt upright in the center of the room. “Yes, I know. I studied the intelligence reports.”

  “It’s rude to interrupt,” Clythe said with great deliberation. “Where was I? Yes, the Ghar had loads more suits, and plasma amplifiers, which made life a lot harder. I’m not saying they’re easy now, but the job certainly seems a lot more achievable than it did when they first arrived.”

  “How do you find the Ghar compared to other armies you’ve faced?” Losse asked from where he sat on a wide sofa on the other side of the communal area as the room shook again from another shell exploding somewhere above their heads.

  “Dunno, really,” Clythe admitted, “I’ve only faced the planetary defenders and the Ghar. This is my first planetary assault.”

  “Your first!” Meibal spat. “And here you are, holding court like some sort of veteran! I thought you’d seen more action than that, the way you carry yourself! How long have you been on the frontline?”

  “About two months,” Clythe shrugged indifferently.

  “Two months!” Meibal repeated. “Why, we’ll be just as experienced as you in…”

  “Approximately two months, I should imagine,” Sessetti remarked dryly from where he lay on his bunk, idly flicking through the articles of a music holozine which was displayed in the space above him.

  “Given how many people we’ve lost, I reckon a couple of months facing the Ghar is worth multiple time,” Clythe said. “What d’you reckon, Varl?”

  Varlton looked up from where he was preparing snacks in the small kitchenette in the corner of the room.

  “Yeah, I reckon. I’ve been qualified for a year or so and the Ghar are certainly the toughest thing I’ve faced. But like you said, more so at the start of a campaign. They seem to lose momentum as soon as their logistics dry up, although racing their scutters is good fun if you ever get the chance. The Isorians, on the other hand, they’re a bunch of real bastards. They don’t let up. They don’t play fair either with all their stealth and cloaking and sniper rifles. Still, I’d rather take my chances against them than the Ghar. At least the Isorians treat their prisoners well, by all accounts.”

  A deep thump sounded from directly above and the lights extinguished for a brief moment, replaced by the dull blue of the emergency lighting system until the primary lighting restored.

  “That was a close one,” Varlton remarked as he sat back down on the sofa. “Good thing we’ve had time to get a subterranean vehicle park built now, or I reckon that would have been the end of a drone or two.”

  Rechter finished his message and posted it in the shard’s pending bin, ready to be transmitted across the cosmos to his wife, light years away, as soon as external communications were restored. He thought of her, carrying on with life and preparing for a vocation as a school teacher. The closest they had been to real disruption to their plans had been when a trial run had been carried out at some of the local schools whereby children were taught by educator drones alone, without any panhuman interaction whatsoever. Fortunately the trial’s results were less than impressive and, as many had theorized, the benefits of receiving education via traditional panhuman interaction were, in many parts of the syllabus for many subjects, irreplaceable. This allowed Rila to continue to pursue her long-term ambition of working with children. That had been the closest to real disruption, the closest until C3 selected Rechter for military service. Even with all of the positivity toward his current predicament provided the company shard, Rechter hoped that this was temporary. Very temporary.

  “It’s a shame that the strike captain was not happy for us to accompany him and the mandarin on that patrol last night,” Meibal said, “I’d imagine that would have been quite an experience.”

  “You desperate to get your head blown off?” Varlton exclaimed. “Just chill out. You’ll be spoiled for opportunities to get shot at sooner than you think.”

  “I want to make an early impression,” Meibal declared confidently. “I’ve never settled for second place in anything I’ve done, and I don’t intend to start now. The intelligence briefs on this planet’s military say that their higher ranks – their officers – are selected based on education and are given rank from the outset. It makes me wonder if we should be adopting a similar system, rather than forcing us all to start our careers at the very bottom as mere troopers.”

  “If you knew your history,” Sessetti intervened from his cubicle again, “which clearly you don’t, you’d be aware of the fact that in ages past, that system was the norm rather than the exception. C3 is aware of it, but we do things this way for a reason. It works better. Rank is given out solely on merit and experience. If you’re as good as you keep saying you are, you needn’t worry. You’ll be a strike commander this time next week.”

  Varlton and Clythe burst out laughing. Meibal’s face reddened and Rechter felt her anger and humiliation through the shard, alongside the mirth from everybody else. He wondered if his sympathy for her would filter through to the others as he watched her storm off to her cubicle and shut the door behind her.

  ***

  17th Assault Force Headquarters

  Approximately one hundred kiloyan west of Pariton

  Markov’s Prize

  L-Day plus 64

  The ranks of strike troopers stood smartly to attention in the midmorning sunshine. All six companies of the 44th Strike Formation had been moved to the Assault Force HQ, giving them a brief two days out of the frontline whilst other units held the defensive positions around Firebase Ghia. The six companies of the 44th – each at approximately half strength – stood in their green barrack uniforms in blocks of three ranks, each block made up of the forty to fifty troopers in each of the six companies. The HQ itself had been set up in another town hall – the norm, it appeared, during this campaign. The old town hall consisted of two wings extending out from a central clock tower, each wing being three floors high. The town square which sprawled out in front of the grand building was dominated by a tall column in the center, atop of which was a
statue of a military hero atop a riding animal of some description from an age gone by. At each end of the square was an ornamental sculpture, surrounded by neatly cut yellow flowers.

  Van Noor stood at ease next to Tahl at the front and center of Beta Company, facing the east wing of the town hall. A small command group stood in front of each company; Ghia Company was the most well-placed with a strike captain, senior strike leader, and two troopers. Alpha Company had only their senior strike leader; everybody else from the command team was dead.

  The main doors to the town hall swung open and Commander-in-Chief Diette, along with four officers of his entourage, paced to the center of the wide stairs leading down to the square. Primary Strike Leader Jayne, the 44th’s highest ranking strike leader, bellowed out a command, traditionally via a loud shout rather than through the shard. Van Noor could not make out the wording from this range, but he, like every other trooper, knew the meaning of the command and stood smartly to attention.

  Diette stood at the top of the stairs, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down on the men and women of the 44th.

  “This campaign,” he began, his voice clear through the shard as if he were stood only a few paces in front of Van Noor, “is all but over. Whilst you have been taking the brunt of the Ghar assault on the frontlines, the enemy supply lines have been cut by our comrades in the 12th Assault Force. Whilst the fight against the Ghar has swung in our favor, the local defenders who continue to oppose us have been reduced to a handful of isolated, combat ineffective units. They are surrendering in increasing numbers with each passing day. The Freeborn mercenaries who have attempted to capitalize on this fight for their own ends are badly outnumbered and have backed the wrong side. We anticipate victory in the next few days.

  “This victory is due to the combined efforts of every element of both the 17th and the 12th Assault Forces, working seamlessly in unity. Every element of the two assault forces has been vital, but you, the men and women of the 44th Strike Formation, have been front and center for the entire campaign. You have gained the most ground, neutralized the largest number of enemy forces and, sadly, you have suffered the greatest number of Concord casualties in this campaign.”

  The senior officer paused for effect, his hands clasped behind his back as his grey eyes scanned across the assembled soldiers.

  “But this has not been in vain. Another planet enters Concord care and with it, millions of people will see an exponential increase in quality of life. This would not have been possible without your sacrifice. When this campaign is over, the 17th Assault Force will be dissolved and the 44th Strike Formation will be assigned to a new force, along with every other formation. I may be moving on, but should the 44th ever find its way under the command of a force I am leading in the future, I’ll always know that the 44th is a unit which never gives in, always stands firm, and have proven its members to be the pride of the strike corps.”

  Diette took a step back and nodded to Jayne. The silence was only broken by the planet’s flag which rippled in the wind atop the clock tower. Van Noor had always found the silence following formal addresses to the troops to be rather uncomfortable. Sometimes a lot of heart and soul seemed to go into these speeches, and a round of applause felt appropriate. However, that was thoroughly unmilitary, and so the three hundred men and women remained rigidly and silently stood to attention.

  “What do you think of that?” Van Noor asked Tahl through the company command shard, hoping the network was not being monitored at formation level.

  “Pretty good. I’ve heard better, but I’ve certainly heard a lot worse.”

  “Yeah, I’d give that speech a seven out of ten,” Van Noor remarked as Diette’s entourage waked down to the foot of the stairs.

  The strike captain commanding Ghia Company marched out to meet the staff officers, stamping to attention before them and snapping up a smart salute. Diette returned the salute and a brief, inaudible conversation took place before Jayne addressed the entire strike formation through the shard.

  “Presentation of award. Strike Trooper Dian Vortez. On L-Day plus 39, whilst operating in the Nienne Desert, Squad Jai of Ghia Company advanced to engage a Ghar assault force. In the ensuing combat, Squad Jai was eliminated by heavy enemy fire, save Strike Trooper Vortez, who lost a hand. Cauterizing his wound, Vortez proceeded to recover the dead and wounded of his squad, running into heavy fire on six occasions with no support, despite being heavily wounded. Vortez’s actions resulted in three strike troopers being evacuated to a medical facility quickly enough to save their lives. For his selfless actions in the face of a determined enemy, Strike Trooper Vortez is awarded the C3 Service Medal, Second Class. Strike Trooper Vortez!”

  Vortez marched out from his squad at the call of his name, both his original arm and his newly cloned hand swinging smartly. He came to a stop in front of the commander-in-chief and saluted. The two exchanged words for several moments until Diette pinned the medal on Vortez’s uniform. The two again exchanged salutes before the trooper marched back to his place in line. Jayne continued with the award announcements.

  “Strike Leader Katya Rhona. On L-Day plus 58, Beta Company was ordered to assault a heavily fortified enemy position on the outskirts of Pariton. Strike Leader Rhona led a two squad assault across open ground in the center of the enemy defenses. With one squad falling as casualties, Rhona continued the advance and destroyed a Ghar battlesuit with heavy weapon which had halted the advance. Having already been wounded and with half of her squad having fallen to enemy fire, Rhona took her squad’s plasma lance and led a second attack on an enemy gun position. She was again wounded, but led her squad on a third assault where she neutralized a second gun, allowing the Concord assault to continue and ultimately succeed. For demonstrating leadership and courage in the face of enemy fire, Strike Leader Rhona is awarded the Concord Silver Cross. Strike Leader Rhona!”

  Van Noor watched as Rhona marched out to meet the commander-in-chief. Her uniform immaculate, her movements smart and soldierly, Van Noor felt proud to have her in his company for the first time. He felt that same pride replicated many times over through the company shard. The same procedure of saluting, small talk, pinning on the medal and marching back in line was repeated until Jayne yelled for the company to dismiss. The troopers turned to the right as one and marched a pace forward before then filtering off into small groups as the buzz of conversation swept across the town square. Van Noor watched as Rhona and Vortez were ushered back to Diette, whilst a drone recorded the event in video capture and stills for the formation archives, as well as the media back home, no doubt.

  Strike Commander Orless, the 44th’s commanding officer, made his way over to Tahl and Van Noor.

  “Morning gents,” he greeted crisply. “Strike Captain – good to see you looking smart and presentable. If you turn up to HQ again looking like you did yesterday, you’ll be sorry you did.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tahl replied.

  “I expect the highest standards of dress and military bearing from my company commanders, Ryen, not turning up to brief the commander-in-chief looking like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backward. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Sir,” Tahl nodded as Orless walked away.

  Van Noor turned to face the younger man. It was completely unheard of for Tahl to let his standards fall, even when he had been broken, shot, and stabbed. Even more confusing, Van Noor could sense no remorse or embarrassment through the company command shard, only a sort of smug amusement.

  “What the hell was that about?” Van Noor demanded as the soldiers on the square fragmented into small groups and departed in different directions.

  “Long story,” Tahl shrugged. “Just had a surprisingly interesting journey to HQ yesterday. Shall we go find somewhere to get a drink?”

  “Yeah, alright,” Van Noor nodded.

  He looked across at where Diette stood in front of the town hall, flanked by the two medal recipients as the drone hovered in
front of them to take pictures. Rhona glanced across at Tahl. There was a look between them. Van Noor took a sharp intake of breath. It all made sense. Tahl was not over her at all. And what was worse, judging by the look he had just seen, Rhona completely reciprocated. Van Noor turned to Tahl and opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped.

  His first thoughts were that he felt betrayed that Tahl had hidden everything from him. But the momentary feelings of hurt were quickly replaced by disappointment, wondering why Tahl had not trusted him and what he could have done to have been more approachable, to be a better friend.

  “You alright?” Tahl asked.

  Van Noor nodded. His job was not to reprimand his friend. His job was to pretend he knew nothing about what was going on, and do everything in his power to cover up and stop anybody else finding out.

  ***

  Owenne grumbled a few curses under his breath as he followed Diette across the town square. The suns were high, and despite the ultraviolet radiation blocker which was programmed into his nanosphere, the dry, prickly heat still irked him. Most of the troopers had dispersed now to take advantage of a few hours away from the frontline; only the squads of the two medal recipients had been held back at Diette’s insistence.

  “They seemed like a good bunch,” the commander-in-chief remarked to Owenne as they walked across from Vortez’s squad to Rhona’s. “Morale seems high. Perhaps there’s enough fight left in these men and women for one more planetary assault.”

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Owenne warned. “Probably better to end on a high rather than to have to explain why you lost an entire assault force when you pushed them past breaking point.”

  “You stick to your technology and nanospheres,” Diette gave a warning smile. “I’ll do the people management.”