by John Bowers
Someone was shouting in his helmet radio, but he couldn't make out the words. Only when the rockets suddenly stopped and he looked up did he realize what was happening.
"… sleds!" Lt Lundgren was shouting. "Infantry sleds! Fire at will!"
Oliver stumbled to his feet, bringing his rifle to bear. His ears still rang, but now the Sirian strategy was clear. As he shouted his squad to its feet, he saw at least twenty sleds hovering just yards below the trench; the rockets had been covering fire to allow them in close, and now Sirian infantry were leaping out and converging on the trench. Tripod lasers on the sleds were pouring condensed light into his men.
He heard someone scream.
Switching to full automatic, Oliver poured a stream of fire into the bottom of the nearest sled, only to see his bullets ricochet off its armored hull. Then the sleds skimmed away into the dusk, leaving behind dozens of enemy troops.
"First Squad! Open fire!"
The enemy clusters were only ten yards away, chugging up the slope like Olympians. Pedersen was already firing, pouring lethal streams of steel into the onrushing Sirians. Oliver joined her, switching magazines every few seconds. To his right and left the chatter of automatic weapons was deafening.
Just yards in front of the trench, men were falling in heaps, but more still struggled upward. Even so, it was clear the Vegans were winning. Just a few more to kill …
Something landed in front of Oliver with a thud, and then exploded. He felt himself flung backward as if by a giant fist, and crashed against the far side of the trench. Light flashed before his eyes, his head pounded, and for a moment he thought he was dead.
Just before his world went black, he could hear Pedersen still firing …
… and screaming.
Endlessly.
His head pounded, and something wet was running down his neck. Oliver moaned weakly and struggled back to awareness. The trench was strangely silent when he opened his eyes, and he realized that a medic was bending over him.
"Easy, Sergeant," the young man said. "You're gonna be okay. Just take it easy."
Oliver closed his eyes again, suddenly aware of acute pain washing over the left side of his face. The medic's soothing words didn't equate to what he was feeling.
"How bad is it?" he mumbled, fearing the worst.
"Not bad. Really. You took a fragment in the cheek, and you're gonna have a scar, but that's all."
He opened his eyes again. That was it? A gouge in the cheek? He could live with that!
The medic finished bandaging his face and began mopping up the blood that had poured into his collar. After a few seconds Oliver waved him away and tried to sit up. Giordino and Pedersen were crouched nearby, watching anxiously.
"You two okay?" Oliver asked.
"Sophia's pussy, Sarge!" Giordino said. Pedersen only nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"We stopped them?"
"Fucking A, Sarge! Stopped 'em cold!"
Oliver looked to his right, saw one Guardsman peering over the edge of the trench, but in the darkness could see no one else.
"What about the squad?" he asked.
"Dukakis is dead," Giordino told him. "Sleds got him. Fenske's hit, but he can still fight."
"That's it? Just three of us?"
Giordino nodded. "This time."
Oliver staggered to his feet, swayed, but Pedersen steadied him. The medic had disappeared, off to help someone else. Six feet away, in the bottom of the trench, Oliver saw seven dead Sirians. Lying in a heap.
"Christ!" he muttered. "Looks like it was close."
Giordino looked at the Sirians, then back at Oliver. "Pedersen killed them," he said simply. "She saved your life."
Denver, CO, North America, Terra
After having sex with Jeremy Mason the first time, Rosemary Egler had second-guessed herself for days. Conservative at heart, she wondered if she'd made a mistake. She didn't love Jeremy, and was pretty sure he didn't love her. Did that make her immoral? A slut? Casual sex was widely accepted, and Rosemary had lost her parents before they'd taught her much about the facts of life. Maxine Lincoln had taught her nothing at all, and Mr. Lincoln had always seemed caring, but a bit gruff. She wasn't a religious person and thus had nothing there to color her judgment, yet at the most fundamental level she felt that sex should probably be an expression of love between two people committed to one another.
She felt no commitment to Jeremy.
But the sex had been great. Exciting. Satisfying. Almost intoxicating.
So why did she feel guilty?
After that first time, of course, Jeremy expected a repeat performance on each of their subsequent dates. Somewhat against her better judgment, Rosemary went along with him. And loved every minute of it. Even though she felt uneasy about it afterward.
Was that normal?
Lake Francesca, Sophia Alps, Vega 3
The shock had worn off and now Oliver's cheek was hurting like hell.
The Sirian attack had failed and the night was quiet again. He lay in the back room of the bunker, dozing off and on, trying to regain his strength while his kids kept watch in the trench. No one seriously expected the enemy to return tonight. But if they did, he wanted to be rested and alert.
The room was completely dark. He heard the door open, then close again. A moment later he became aware of someone next to him, and caught a whiff of Vegan perfume.
"Oliver," Pedersen whispered as she scooted up next to him, "I need to talk to you."
He sat up painfully, his face throbbing. "What's wrong, Pedersen?"
"Call me Olga," she said softly. "Please."
"Okay. Olga."
"How are you feeling?"
"It hurts, but I'll live." I hope.
Her hand touched his face, and though he couldn't see her, he felt a sense of carnal pleasure at her touch.
"How much do you know about the teachings of Sophia?" she asked, her voice deadly serious.
"Not much," he admitted. "Except that virginity is a virtue."
"Yes," she admitted. "It is." She hesitated a moment. "But I don't want to die a virgin, Oliver."
He didn't know what to say to that. His throat felt suddenly constricted.
"Sophia teaches that every woman should have her Moment of Awakening. Do you know what that is?"
"Not really."
"It's the moment her womanhood is affirmed. Ideally, it's her wedding night, the first time she surrenders to her husband."
"So virginity is a virtue."
"Yes. But sometimes … Oliver, if a woman is about to die, she still has a right to her Moment."
"Sophia said that?"
"No, I said that."
He remained silent.
"Will you help me, Oliver?"
"Jesus, Pedersen!"
"I don't want to die a virgin."
"Nobody said you're going to die."
"And I don't want some sweaty, slobbering Sirian to take it from me," she added. "I want my Moment. I have a right to it, and I want to choose my own man."
Sweaty? Slobbering? Oliver wasn't slobbering, but he could smell his own sweat, and it wasn't very pleasant. He hadn't bathed in days.
"Pedersen …"
"If you don't find me attractive, I'll understand."
"It's not that …"
She found his mouth with her full, lush lips. Her hair teased his face and the perfume almost smothered him with desire.
"Wait a minute!" he gasped as she released him. "Pedersen …"
"Olga," she whispered.
"Olga, I'm not even Vegan."
"Oliver, the first time we met, you wanted to sleep with me. Why is tonight different? Have I become ugly to you?"
"Of course not. But what about those guys out there? They're all crazy about you. I think Giordino's in love with you for god's sake!"
She smiled. "Giordino's sweet. But he's just a boy. They're all boys. I want you. Besides, they belong to Sophia. If I asked one of them, it would be a
sin for him."
"Isn't it a sin for you?"
"Sophia will forgive me."
"Then Sophia will forgive them, too. None of them wants to die a virgin any more than you do."
"Oliver, please — will you do this for me? Let me have my Moment. It won't cost you anything."
He hesitated for ten seconds — and wondered what had changed. She was right — the first time they met, he'd craved her body. Why was he looking a gift horse in the mouth?
"Okay, Pedersen. Just this one time."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.
"Thank you, Oliver!"
Panting with expectation, she pulled off her shirt and straddled him, pushing her breasts toward his face. They were full and firm, pale white and magnificent. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her while his lips moved across her chest, finding each nipple and loving it gently. She lifted her chin and sighed, trembling slightly, then lowered her face until her forehead touched the top of his head, her long hair dangling past his cheek. She kissed him where she could reach, moved her long fingers through his thinning hair, massaged his shoulders and swayed from side to side with pleasure, alternately gasping and moaning.
They fumbled in the darkness to remove their pants. She shoved him back against the wall, in a sitting position, and straddled him again. It was the most awkward coupling Oliver had ever attempted, but it worked. Pedersen's fingers found his manhood and stroked it, then positioned it upright, her body sliding down over it. Oliver gasped and trembled as her flesh parted and enclosed him. She settled firmly onto his lap, her knees braced on either side, and they were connected, one flesh. She was tight, and her weight combined with his weariness to prevent him from moving, but she did all the work, riding up and down on him while her full breasts rubbed against his shirt and her hungry mouth bathed his face.
It was over in minutes. Oliver's weariness deserted him and he lived intensely while the redhead had her Moment, using his body to find the fulfillment of womanhood the war might deny her. She climaxed before he did, and again afterward, and then they were both spent, and sagged against one another. Oliver held her in his arms while she panted in recovery, and kissed her as she wept with a mixture of joy and shame — joy for her Moment, shame for her sin.
"It's okay," he whispered when she quieted. "It's okay."
"Do you love me, Oliver?" she whimpered in his ear, sounding suddenly very young and childlike.
"Yes," he lied. "From the first moment I saw you."
Still coupled with him, she sat there for half an hour, and he thought she'd fallen asleep. Then, slowly, she raised her head, kissed him long and deep.
"Thank you, Oliver. For saying you love me."
"I do lov …"
She stopped him with another kiss, then put a finger to his lips. Without another word she lifted herself off him and quickly got dressed. He pulled up his own pants and attached his belt. She sat down beside him and rested her head against his shoulder.
Within moments she was asleep.
Chapter 35
Saturday, 30 April, 0196 (PCC) — Lake Francesca, Sophia Alps, Vega 3
"Hey, Sarge." Giordino's voice was low, almost inaudible in the steady, gusting wind. He and Oliver were sitting back to back, shivering, watching the hillside through IR contacts. The night was cold, the mountains bathed in moonlight. The rest of the squad was sleeping in the bunker. "You think she's a virgin?"
Oliver's eyes jerked open. "Who?"
"Pedersen."
Oliver hesitated — how did he answer that one?
"I didn't ask her," he hedged.
"I think she is," the youth said seriously.
"What difference does it make?" Oliver asked. "You gonna propose to her?"
"I'd like to." The young soldier's voice was wistful. "She's the prettiest thing I ever saw."
"She's no prettier than any other Vegan girl," Oliver said, as much to convince himself as Giordino. "They're all gorgeous."
"Naw, Sarge, she's the finest thing I've ever seen. You see those dark eyes? And that red hair?"
God! He's got it bad!
"She's pretty, all right."
They were silent awhile, and Oliver thought that was the end of it. It wasn't.
"I'd like to marry her," Giordino said. "Can you imagine that? Me marry Pedersen? Goddess!"
"Maybe you will."
"No, I don't think so. We're gonna die before this is over."
"Cut that shit out, Giordino. Nobody's gonna die …"
"Come on, Sarge. The colonel basically said so."
Oliver started to object, but what could he say? He couldn't promise Giordino he wasn't going to die — especially when he probably was.
"What about you, Giordino? You a virgin?"
The young Vegan was silent for a moment, then Oliver felt him nod.
"I belong to Sophia," he explained.
"You know, somebody once told me Sophia teaches that a woman has a right to her Moment of Awareness …"
"Moment of Awakening," Giordino corrected him.
"Right, that's it. But what about men? Don't they have the same rights as women?"
"It's called the Moment of Responsibility. You experience it when you get married."
"And every young man has a right to it?"
"Yes."
"What happens in a situation like this? When you're in a war and facing the possibility of dying? Does Sophia make exceptions for extreme cases?"
The night breeze chilled them as Giordino considered.
"I never thought about it, Sarge. I don't know."
"Well, think about it. If Sophia is a loving goddess, surely she has compassion for men in your position. Don't you think?"
"It makes sense, I guess," the kid said slowly. "Why are you talking about this, Sarge?"
Oliver took a deep breath, and wondered if he should speak the next few words. It wasn't really his place, but …
"Let's assume Pedersen is a virgin like you, and neither of you has experienced your Moment …"
"Are you suggesting …"
"I'm not suggesting anything, except that maybe you and Pedersen should talk about it. You both know a lot more about Sophia's teachings than I do, so maybe you could work something out."
Oliver felt him shiver, as if the idea were electrifying.
"What about the other guys, Sarge?"
"I don't know, Marco. I haven't had this conversation with any of them. But if you truly love Pedersen … Well, I've probably said too much already."
"What if she turns me down?"
"What if she doesn't? You've got nothing to lose, except your innocence."
Giordino was silent for several minutes.
"One thing," Oliver said then. "If you two do come to an agreement, keep it private. I don't need a mutiny in my squad."
Monday, 2 May, 0196 (PCC) — Lake Francesca, Sophia Alps, Vega 3
The Sirians hit again at dawn on 2 May. The main thrust was a half-mile to the left of Oliver's position, and the trench was breached in several places. Space strikes hammered the Vegans hard, decimating several companies, and only a determined counterattack by units from the trenches above drove the enemy back. But the line was seriously weakened, and Oliver wondered if they'd be able to withstand another assault like that.
"Reinforcements will be here tomorrow," Lundgren told him that afternoon as he inspected the damage. "The Space Guard has been alerted and they've promised to provide cover when we need it. The engineers are going to refresh the minefields after dark."
"What if they come again tonight?"
Lundgren shook his head. "Let's just hope they don't."
Oliver checked his men at dusk and tried to speak encouraging words. It was increasingly difficult to be optimistic, because any fool could tell the situation was desperate. He sent half the squad into the bunker to sleep and left the rest on watch.
As he returned to his own firing post and broke out a pack of cold r
ations, Oliver saw Olga Pedersen step out of the bunker. Her rifle was slung as if she were on a parade ground, and she looked tired.
"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded. She stood beside him and peered down the slope.
"They're coming again tonight, aren't they?"
"Don't know. Probably."
She stared silently into the gathering gloom, then turned dark eyes onto his face. He sensed she had something momentous to say.
"Oliver …" She laid a hand on his arm. He gazed into her eyes and saw the question without hearing the words.
"I told you I'd do it once, Olga," he said, keeping his voice low. "Don't ask me again."
He saw disappointment in her eyes. Perhaps anger, too.
"I want you to cover Giordino," he said. "He has the rocket launcher, and he needs a rifleman. That's your job now." He stared closely at her. "Understand?"
She straightened her shoulders slowly, her eyes hardening. She nodded. Without a word, she turned and headed down the trench toward Giordino, fifty yards away.
* * *
Men from the 309th Combat Engineers worked their way across the slopes below the trench line, planting plasma mines and body-heat sensors. It was slow, difficult work; the mines were encoded with microchips for easy location by handheld monitors, but a wrong step could result in the deaths of a dozen men.
As Vega's dual moons tracked across the sky, causing shadows to shift steadily, Oliver watched through night glasses until the engineers finished. Not until they filed away to his left did he relax his vigil. With the minefields refreshed, the enemy would once again face a fiery death if they came up the slope. Every little bit helped.
Oliver stepped down from his firing post and started up the trench again. Konrad and Rasmussen were separated by twenty yards, each standing in a cutout keeping watch down the slope. He spent a few minutes with each, talking about inconsequential matters to take their minds off the situation. Finally he arrived at the last firing post in his sector.
He stopped a few yards short as he thought he heard a moan. Lowering his head, he listened intently for a few seconds, and picked up what sounded like heavy breathing. Then a whimper, and a gasp of explosive breath.
"Oh, Marco!" Pedersen's voice gasped.
Then it was quiet, except for the murmur of Giordino's voice, too low to be understood. Oliver looked up at the sky, at the moons. He took a deep, quiet breath, then turned and retraced his steps down the trench. Hoping they hadn't heard him.
