by Jean Johnson
Your gun on your shoulder
Move ’em down the road
Your gun on your shoulder
You gotta do it bolder
Your gun on your shoulder
You gotta lock and load!
Feet planted on the ground
Chamber up another round
Feet planted on the ground
It’s the soldier’s code
Feet planted on the ground
Concentrate through battle sound
Feet planted on the ground
You gotta lock and load!
Other voices joined her on the chorus, then fell silent again. They listened, anticipating the increase in tempo, the flawless patter of words. Ia did her best to not disappoint.
When foes use greater force
You gotta stay the steady course
When foes use greater force
You gotta hit their node
When foes use greater force
Hit ’em in their battle-source
When foes use greater force
You gotta lock and load!
When foes go on attack
You gotta really hit ’em back
When foes go on attack
Make ’em all explode
When foes go on attack
Their bodies you will have to stack
When foes go on attack
You gotta lock and load!
Out on the battlefield
Your weapon, you gotta wield . . .
The double chorus flew from her tongue and lips, cycling back around again to the start of the song and the first few verses, racing through the beginning all over again. She all but bounced through the tune, hitting the notes as true as she had started. If she couldn’t sing on a stage, at least she could still sing her best, even if the audience was small. Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep up the pace indefinitely and, a few verses into the second round, fumbled the rapid-fire words.
Load ’em up
And flak ’em up
And pug ’emmububl—
Her tongue tangled and knotted itself. Wincing and chuckling, Ia broke off.
“Sorry, meioas. I rarely make it to the fifth verse.”
Her chuckled apology was met with cheers and whistles, and an appreciative, “V’dayamn, woman!” from Double-E. “Most people drop out by the first verse!”
“Normally I’d do better, but my mouth is a little dry,” she quipped back. With the helmet unsealed and tipped back, she didn’t have access to the sip-straw that would provide her with a ration pack of water.
His teammate Harkins called out, “Hell’s bells, meioa, I’d like to see you try that when you aren’t sober!”
“I’ll even buy you the first drink,” Double-E agreed. “If you survive your first bloodbath.”
She shook her head, though she knew he couldn’t see it. Hooke and Knorrsson could, though Knorrsson had his helmet down and was either viewing something on his HUD, or catching a covert nap. “Sorry. I don’t drink.”
“Sonova’shova!” she heard Soyuez exclaim. “You’re in the military, and you don’t drink? What in th’ galaxy is wrong with you?”
“My family line has a risk factor for genetic alcoholism . . . and before you ask, no, I didn’t get any gene therapy to correct it. You don’t get any fancy medical procedures for the nonfatal stuff on a new colonyworld. Too many other problems have a higher priority.”
That silenced him. Technically, the risk factor was very small, something which hadn’t cropped up in a handful of generations, but it was more convenient than telling the truth: if Ia ever drank herself silly, she might lose control over her psychic abilities. That would be bad.
For a given value of bad, she thought idly, insert the death of the entire Milky Way galaxy as my one shot at saving it goes careering off wildly into dust . . .
“Attention, Ferrar’s Fighters. ETA to system Ceti Ceti in two minutes. ETA two minutes.”
Footsteps chung-chung-chunged up the length of the prep bays. “You heard the bridge!” Lieutenant D’kora called out, checking for herself that her platoon was suited and ready to go. “Two minutes! I want everyone secured in their alcoves and on their chargers before we break out of FTL, helms down and ready to go! Lock and web, lock and load!”
They settled into place. Ferrar’s Fighters was a full combat company; everyone went into combat, privates, corporals, sergeants, lieutenants. Some Companies had noncombatant squads, even whole platoons of personnel whose primary job wasn’t infantry in nature. They served by making repairs, doing routine maintenance, even handling the simplest things like cooking and cleaning.
However, the Liu Ji was merely a frigate class battleship, almost a corvette, designed more for speed than for size. There wasn’t room for extraneous bodies, not when the Navy half of the ship’s complement already carried the personnel for maintenance, logistics, and support services.
A new voice intruded over the comm system. “This is Chaplain Benjamin. As it says in The Book of the Wise, ‘Soldiers do not go into battle expecting to kill, or expecting to die. They are prepared, but they are as mortal as you or I.’ May whatever deity or faith you hold safe in your hearts this day in turn hold you safe and sound. Keep your heads down, and make sure this is my only prayer for the day. Blessed Be.”
Ia lowered her helm, sealing it in place. Not just the clear inner faceplate, but the silvered blast plate as well. That left her one more anonymous soldier among the dozens in the 2nd Platoon’s prep bay, save for the nametags installed in embossed, silvery-grey letters on her shoulder guards, chest plate, and helm, spelling out in terse symbols and code her name and rank.
The helmet’s HUD lit up, and the captain’s voice projected into her ears, echoing slightly through the mechsuit’s external speakers as they picked up the comm system broadcast.
“Entering insystem speeds in three . . . two . . .”
The ship swayed. That was the only visible, tangible effect of crossing the barrier between faster-than-light and insystem speeds. Wrapped in a peculiar field that “greased” the laws of physics around the ship’s immediate environs, the Liu Ji could travel at speeds of roughly one hour to the light-year; the bigger the ship, the longer it took to speed up and slow down, but all FTL vessels traveled at roughly one hour to the light-year. The ship shivered as the FTL field’s greasiness eased back, allowing the ship to be slowed by the insystem thruster fields. Ia swallowed, popping her ears. The air pressure hadn’t changed, but the trick was the only thing she could do to counteract the slight well of nausea stirred by the braking turbulence.
Data spilled across her HUD. The Liu Ji had arrived very close to the ships in question, feeding them nearly real-time data from the ship’s passive sensors. She skimmed it as it scrolled up her field of view, knowing most of what it said in advance.
The Clearly-Standing was locked in a grappled, boarded embrace with a vessel that looked like several ships had been pried apart, crumpled up, and then patch-welded together. The only thing keeping both vessels still within the ice fields of the seventh orbit was the damage visible on both ships’ faster-than-light panels. With nothing else to do, Ia sunk a corner of her mind into the timeplains and walked a few steps upstream, peering into the postcognitive waters of the Gatsugi crew. Not enough to lose her awareness of the prep bay, but enough to satisfy that slight itch of curiosity.
The Clearly-Standing had dropped out of FTL to pick up ice, and dropped out very close to that pirate ship, who was already there, lurking and scooping up fuel. They didn’t see the pirates until after they had started their own fuel-snagging efforts.
Confronted with the risk of being identified, the pirates had flipped on their jammer and attacked. They caught the merchanter midtransmission, relaying their coordinates to the rest of their commercial fleet, and that had given the alien vessel the small break it needed. The density of the ice field had also muffled some of the jamming, allowing the hyperrelay on the Gatsugi vessel to fire off a p
artial warning before the pirate vessel had moved close enough to sever the connection and destroy their ability to flee.
The first set of damage was to the Clearly-Standing, done by the pirates. They didn’t want their prey slipping away. Since it was an older vessel, the Gatsugi had some of their crew suited up and waiting outside, ready to clear the ice scoops if they jammed. The pirates didn’t know this, and so the p-suited crew were able to float around both ships and plant their incendiaries—normally used to break up the largest blocks of ice—on the hull of the pirate ship. That allowed them to cripple its own FTL panels, and hopefully give them time for a rescue attempt from outside.
If their message had gotten through, which it had. Mindful of the seconds ticking by on her HUD chronometer, Ia pulled her thoughts fully into the present. A few moments later, the Lieutenant spoke through her headset speakers.
“Ferrar to the 2nd Platoon, looks like you will get to play after all. You will be boarding the enemy vessel at three points of entry. Lt. D’kora will split you up. 1st Platoon, you will be boarding the Gatsugi vessel at two points of entry. Lt. Cheung will split you up. Be very careful when aiming; we’re still downloading the official crew and passenger roster from the Gatsugi collective.
“2nd Platoon full-mechs, be doubly careful what you aim at; I don’t like the looks of that hull. Priorities are comm systems, bridge, engineering, and any gunnery stations. 2nd platoon top priority is securing the bridge, particularly the comm equipment, and any chance of finding an intact, functional jamming device—comm ops says they’re picking up some interference on the relays. 1st Platoon, top priority is securing the Gatsugi crew, bridge, engineering, and gunnery pods.
“Here we go—official word, if it has four arms, give it the benefit of the doubt before you shoot. If it doesn’t, the Collective has the ship registered as an all-Gatsugi crew, zero passengers, I repeat, all-Gatsugi crew, zero passengers, so if it isn’t Gatsugi or Space Force, presume it’s a pirate. Priorities are capture over kill, disarmament over dismemberment.
“One more thing. You all heard Bennie. Nobody buys a star on this one. By the book, and stay sharp, no real-estating on this one. Line up for the Liu Ji’s boarding shuttles, lock and load.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Ia murmured, stepping forward and down from her prep alcove. Not on an active link, of course, but enough to let her suit know she had heard her commander’s orders.
Her mechsuit and wrist unit would record whatever she said, regardless of whether it was an active link or not; that was part of the suit’s “black box” systems, designed to record everything for potential analysis in the event of injury, death, or an infraction of the TUPSF’s stringent bylaws, for as long as she wore the suit. Removed from the suit, the wrist unit had to be manually activated to record anything, which was also per TUPSF regulations, the ones regarding personal privacy rights.
Falling into line behind D’kora, Ia reminded herself of that fact. Everything I do, everything I say, for the next few hours has to seem normal in every way. Like the lieutenant in front of her and the lead corporal of B Squad behind her, she used her mechsuit hands to grab one of the HK-114s off the weapons rack waiting in the corridor on their way to the launch bay. A quick check made sure the mechsuit-sized rifle was unloaded, and a whirring shrug of servos slung the carry strap over her helmed head. I am perfectly normal. I am a Marine.
A moment later, a ghost of a smile curved her mouth. Of course, there are those who say that “perfectly normal” and “I am a Marine” are two statements that contradict each other.
They bypassed the airlock leading to the transport shuttle reserved for the 2nd Platoon, one of the vessels which could be converted to carry mechsuited soldiers, suitless soldiers, cargo, or light vehicles. It was also designed to be able to cross into an atmosphere. The boarding shuttle was the next stop down, and it was designed specifically for boarding hostile ships in space.
The central trunk formed the core of the shuttlecraft. They entered through the rear airlock and marched up to the side airlocks, peeling off according to squad. D’kora stayed in the corridor, gestured for Ia to duck into the right-hand boarding pod. Carefully stepping on the rib at the corner of the hexagonal-walled oblong, Ia moved past the first two padded alcoves slanted to either side, and picked the left-hand niche.
A twist and a crouch allowed Ia to lower herself into place. Swinging her legs into the alcove, she could see Estes entering. Lying back, she let the gravity of the Liu Ji snap her onto the same sort of prongs serving as both chargers and acceleration restraints back in the prep bay. They attached at her ribs and down by her heels, and there were optional prongs for her wrists as well. Since she needed to keep her gun from dangling free, Ia cradled it against her armored chest, and popped out one of her e-clips. Slotting it into the rifle, she turned it on, but didn’t release the safety, yet. Over her suit’s speakers, she could hear the faint whine as Estes did the same.
Moments later, Double-E and Harkins thumped and clanked into the pod, taking their positions on the other two cushions, locking themselves into place. The pod’s internal comm beeped and a neutral-female voice stated, “Pod one rotating in five . . . four . . .”
On zero, the entire semi-cylindrical room swiveled up and around, then jerked to a halt. That left Ia lying sideways, locked in place. Teams Gamma and Delta entered, taking up four more slots in the hexagonal chamber, then the same voice gave its warning and rotated the boarding pod. Now she dangled more or less facedown, if at a slight angle. The last pair then entered, followed by D’kora. Like Delta, team Epsilon and the lieutenant had to maneuver past the bulk of team Gamma in their full-mechsuits, which overflowed their own alcoves by several bulky, silvered centimeters.
The inner airlock sealed shut, leaving them in soft glow of the guide-lights rimming each alcove. Ia rested while she could. Her p-suit was constrictive, the air in her helmet smelled dull, and she had nothing but the whine of charging laser rifles for company, since no one was talking. Hurry up and wait . . . hurry up and wait.
D’kora spoke up, broadcasting to her platoon. The different links showed up as blinking lights on the edge of Ia’s HUD, each hue corresponding to a broadcast channel so that a listener—or a speaker—knew which group of people he or she was conversing with at any point in time.
“A Squad will board with me at midship, looking for the bridge. B and C Squads, you will stack your pods and take the aft airlock. D and E, you will stack and take the bow. B, your priority is engineering. E squad, disable any hyperrelay systems they may have, then sweep for the comm system jammers. Such things are usually found at the front of a ship, but don’t count on it. C and D, look for gunnery pods, weapons lockers, and pirates, but be mindful of your fellow Squads, and be ready for backup.”
The voice of their shuttle pilot was next. “This is Yeoman Lutzoni to the 2nd Platoon. The Liu Ji has found and neutralized the enemy’s broadside external gun pods. Ops reports minimal damage to the hostile vessel. All systems are ready; all pods are secured. We are green for go. Departing in thirty seconds.”
Ia closed her eyes, skimming the timeplains for her immediate future paths. The shuttle lurched around her, swaying her sideways inside her armor. Then the pull of downward gravity ceased with a stomach-twisting, sideways-squishing flip, and only acceleration held her that way. Two more minutes passed; the second minute involved maneuvers that altered her sense of up from down, based on which way the shuttle swerved.
“Launching pods two and three in five . . . four . . .”
The shuttle jerked on either side, shoved by the launching of the pods containing C and D Squads.
“One of you gets to volunteer for point.” D’kora stated in her question-avoiding way. “Make up your minds, fast.”
“Launching pod one in five . . . four . . .”
“I lead from the front.” The words escaped Ia without conscious thought.
The pod lurched headfirst away from its shuttle. Acceleration s
hoved Ia onto her feet, then swung her sense of down shoulders-up as the craft braked abruptly. They touched with a shivering thump, and the automatic grapples chunked into the side of the enemy craft. Despite knowing—or perhaps because—what was about to come, Ia felt her heart leap into her throat.
Oh, God. Help me.
CHAPTER 12
I’ve been asked many times about that song—the very first one. A lot of people have wanted to know about it over the years. A lot. So. Was any of it actually true?
Every damn word.
~Ia
She levered herself off of the restraint struts with her elbows, then kicked her heels free. Before she could float across the smallish chamber, Ia twisted and grabbed the airlock wheel near her head. Curling up her legs, she touched the keypad that unlocked the wheel and cranked it open electronically. The wheel could be unlocked and turned manually, in case of a power failure, but didn’t need to be, this time.
Beyond the door lay the second airlock, opposite the one she and her squad mates had entered. She could now hear through her helmet the faint thrum of the sealers welding the two vessels together with a special type of plexgel. The lights around the outer airlock door glowed amber, indicating a tenuous contact at best. She didn’t have to enter the airlock; she was now close enough to feel the tug of artificial gravity from the ship. It was weak even at this close range, since she was sideways to the weaves, but it did pull her toward the outer door.
Blinking and focusing to activate the module attached to her shoulder, Ia waited impatiently for the results. As soon as they scrolled up her HUD projection, flashing red in chunks too large to ignore, she activated her comm link on the platoon-wide channel. “2nd Platoon, all boarding parties—all stop, all stop! I repeat, 2nd Platoon all boarding parties, all stop, all stop!”
“—Corporal Ia, you had better explain yourself!” D’kora snapped.
