Outpost

by W. P. Brothers

  Squires, his uniform stained with sweat, grinned faintly when he saw Christine moving toward him and stepped aside from the others, who continued marching past him toward the waiting foxholes of the other rangers and marines.

  “Keep the home fires burning?” Squires shifted under the weight of his backpack, the armor and helmet strapped to it clanking softly.

  “We got a nice, warm box of emergency rations ready for you.”

  “Perfect.” Squires closed his eyes, looking as if olive-green bags of freeze-dried meals were the best thing he’d ever heard of.

  “How’s it looking out there?” Christine had been feeling anxious the entire day. As much as she was relieved to not be attacking the fort, she didn’t like the idea of just waiting around.

  “Hot. Full of trees.” Squires’ grin faded. “We ran into two groups, eradicated them both. Still no sign of their air patrols. Their ground units still seem to have no idea where we’re coming from.”

  “Good.” Christine exhaled. The last thing she wanted was to be caught sitting on her ass while waiting for someone else to take care of business.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, those hot, tasty rations are calling.” Squires started to move, but Christine held out a hand to block him.

  “Make sure you see Wilcox right away.” She met his gaze. “He’s got some important things to tell you.”

  Christine doubted that Squires had been given the full story about the Legion, and she imagined Wilcox wanted to be the one to brief him on it.

  “No need to rush things, Lieutenant.”

  Christine turned around to see Wilcox striding down the hill toward them, his sidearm and its holster bouncing slightly against his hip as he walked.

  “Third Platoon reporting back from patrol, sir.” Squires squared himself with Wilcox. “Three of our own wounded, one hundred twelve enemies neutralized.”

  “Very good, Mr. Squires.” Wilcox thrust a thumb over his shoulder. “Go ahead, get your group settled in, and have some chow. I’ll be expecting you in the radio room in thirty minutes for a briefing.”

  “Yes, sir.” Squires started up the hill.

  Christine made to follow him, but Wilcox held up a hand.

  “I’d like to have a word with you, Lieutenant Flores. Walk with me.”

  Christine blinked, taken aback. “Yes, sir.”

  They turned right and strolled together for a distance, paralleling the defensive lines as they circled the hill. They passed one of the trios of marines patrolling the perimeter, returned their silent nods, and continued walking. Neither of them spoke for a while.

  “To be honest,” Wilcox said at last, “when we started this mission, I was sure I was going to report you for insubordination.”

  Christine swallowed hard, remembering the harsh words she’d said to Wilcox, the times she’d questioned his orders, all but called him a fool.

  Wilcox stopped and turned to face her, his face all hard lines. “I think you have a fast mouth, Lieutenant. I think that’ll get you in trouble if you don’t watch it.”

  Christine felt her temper begin to rise, but heard Ryan’s voice.

  “Your temper is a work in progress, babe.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But I also think we know that—” he took a breath “—part of it was my fault too. I didn’t follow protocol, and when you and the others tried to help, I ignored your advice. I let down my command.”

  Christine had to remember to keep her mouth closed to avoid gaping. She’d never heard a superior officer go this far to admit a mistake, to humble himself like this. What was he after? She realized he was waiting for a response from her.

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  Wilcox relaxed, and a grin crept onto his face. “Lieutenant, during this… campaign, if we can call it that, I’ve seen an incredible improvement in your attitude as a subordinate officer and as an example for your rangers.”

  Where was he going with this?

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m giving you a field promotion to the rank of captain. I’ll be placing an official request as soon as this is all over, but I have no doubt they’ll approve it after my report.”

  Christine actually did gape now. She took a small step backward. “Sir?”

  Wilcox was grinning broadly. “You’ve been a major source of expertise and advice during this entire mess. And it’s obvious to me that the other officers in your company look up to you. Giving you this rank will simply be making that fact official.”

  A captain? Christine didn’t know what to say, but found herself returning Wilcox’s smile like a damned idiot schoolgirl. She saw her father’s beaming smile, her mother nodding her head with pride, Ryan’s sparkling eyes.

  She really was making it.

  “Thank you, sir. I-I can’t believe this.” It sounded stupid to say, but it was the truth. She never would have imagined Wilcox pinning a captain’s coronet on her after all the shit she’d given him.

  “You have only yourself to blame.” Wilcox chuckled, then a frown replaced his smile. “This area could be the frontline in a long fight against the UWL. After this is all over, there’s going to be a need for strong leadership on this planet, someone to help get this station back together until a proper command platoon arrives for the company. I want to do what I can to put the best officers in place.”

  Christine nodded, her thoughts returning sharply to the prospect of a mass revolt, of civil war. Even if the Verdun did come and save them, this was only the beginning.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Congratulations, Captain.” Wilcox held out his hand. “Though I do expect you to work on that attitude if you don’t want your next superior officer to knock your ass down to private.”

  “I’ll work on it, sir.” Christine took his hand, shook it. As she released it, she found herself looking up at Wilcox, wanting to find words for something she’d hardly ever expressed to anyone, except for Ryan and a couple close friends.

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “Sir, I…” Christine shifted on the spot. Facing enemy fire, she could do. Hiking ten miles over rough terrain in three hours, she could do. Talk about this, on the other hand…

  “I wanted to let you know. It wasn’t personal, anything I said before. It wasn’t about you.” Christine cursed herself for the vulnerability, the emotion in her voice.

  Wilcox nodded, seeming put off. “You don’t need to explain. You’ve been stationed here with an inept commander for a long time. I’m sure I just reminded you of—”

  “No, sir. It’s not that.” Christine fought for the words, found her ring, and pressed hard on it. “Or at least it’s not just that. I grew up on Artemis, an industrial planet.”

  “Oh.” Wilcox clearly was not sure what this had to do with anything.

  “Things were pretty nasty there, and Dad… he worked for a manufacturing plant. Mom was a teacher, but she knew that all the kids stayed on the planet and worked in the factories eventually.”

  Christine paused to gauge Wilcox’s reaction. He said nothing, so Christine continued.

  “I left when I turned eighteen. I joined the Army, got into the Ranger Corps, served a couple years in the ranks. Anything to get off that damned planet. The Rangers were—are—everything to me. They saved me from that dump.” Christine closed her eyes, seeing the dark clouds rising from smoke stacks, the lines of workers walking into the factory gates in the morning, the taut exhaustion written on her father’s face each night when he came home. She didn’t want to talk about this. She had to talk about this.

  “One day, a foreman had a truckload of explosive chemicals he was going to deliver to the factory, but… he broke protocol. He was irresponsible and parked the vehicle on the street while getting food from the dispensary.” Christine almost wanted to laugh. It seemed so stupid.

  “There was… an accident. An explosion. My house was across the street. It was destroyed, and my parents…” She couldn’t sa
y the words, but she saw instead the data pad she’d received one day in her barracks, the cold, hard facts on an emotionless screen.

  John and Charlotte Flores were both killed instantly in the blast. The house burned and couldn’t be saved. Our deepest regrets, Corporal.

  “Flores, I… I’m so sorry. I…” Wilcox struggled for words.

  Christine opened her eyes, saw Wilcox’s face through tears. “I decided that I needed to be a leader, to be the one to make sure things turned out right. I applied for OCS. I got in.”

  She saw again the sympathetic look of the officer who had pinned the silver shield on her collar.

  “Congratulations, Lieutenant. I know how much this commission must mean to you, given the circumstances.”

  “When you’re in charge, you’ve got the lives of people in your hands.” Christine wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek, suddenly feeling very childish. “It’s not about spit and polish or treating a rulebook like it’s the Bible or something. It’s just about doing it right for the situation. Every time. All the time. When you don’t, when you fuck up…” Christine trailed off, looked away, at anything besides the sympathy she saw in Wilcox’s eyes. It made her feel too vulnerable, too much like she had that day, like she had every time the other officers in OCS had looked at her. She didn’t want that, not from anyone. Except Ryan.

  Wilcox nodded, and neither of them spoke for a moment.

  “I’m glad you don’t think I’ll fuck up anymore,” Wilcox said, finally.

  Christine looked back up at him, smiled. “I’ve just about got you broken in.”

  Wilcox grinned, turned to head up the hill. “Come on. I need to brief Lieutenant Squires and tell him I’ll be promoting you over him.”

  “Oh, he’ll love th—”

  A rustling sound somewhere to Christine’s left and down the hill cut her off mid-sentence. She reached out and grabbed hold of Wilcox, pulling him into a crouching position behind a scraggly mound of bushes.

  “What’s going on?” Wilcox whispered.

  Christine put her finger in front of her mouth, then turned to face up the hill and made a low, whistling sound. A second later, the sound came back to her, repeated by someone on the line. She turned, peering down toward where she’d heard the noise. She could just make out the shapes of several people moving toward them through the trees. She reached into her holster, drew her sidearm, and clicked off the thumb safety, saw Wilcox do the same.

  The whistling sound came again, this time from close by, and Christine looked to see the marines on perimeter security that they had passed earlier taking position by a clump of trees a dozen yards to her left. She caught their gaze, made a hand gesture for them hold their fire. Something was different about these people walking toward them. Yes, something was definitely different.

  They were one hundred yards away now, and Christine could see they were in olive green Army uniforms, their rifles slung over their backs. Two of them seemed to be carrying something, a stretcher. Their movements were slow, clumsy, fatigued. But there was something about them, something familiar, though she couldn’t make out their faces in the broken patches of light that filtered through the trees.

  “Do we have any groups still out on patrol?” Christine breathed the words as quietly as she could.

  “No. They’re all in,” Wilcox replied, his voice barely a whisper.

  Christine scanned the woods behind the approaching group, looking for anyone, anything that might suggest an ambush. Seeing nothing, she made eye contact again with the marines, then cupped her hand over her mouth.

  “Halt!”

  The people stopped dead in their tracks, and two of them reached for their rifles.

  “Don’t touch your weapons, or we’ll shoot!” Christine saw the marines to her left taking aim.

  The people below stood still, awkwardly looking around to find where Christine was calling from.

  “Raise your hands in the air and walk forward slowly. Set whatever you have there down.”

  Three of the people raised their hands, but the two holding the stretcher hesitated.

  “Set it down, or we shoot.” Christine peered through the mixed light, her body relaxed and ready to move.

  “Please!” One of the people below shouted. “She’s wounded! She’ll die if we leave her!”

  Christine’s brow furrowed. There was something about that voice. She knew it from somewhere. Christine closed her eyes, searching back in her mind for the face that went with it.

  “If you’re going to let her die, you’ll have to shoot the rest of us, too.” The desperation in the man’s voice was palpable.

  Then, it came to her. “Private Fletcher?” In her mind, she could see his tall frame, his red hair. She could hear him complaining about Colonel Neville in the mess hall.

  The man jumped at Christine’s shout. “Y-yes?”

  Christine turned to Wilcox. “He’s one of the soldiers from the command center in the fort.”

  “He could just be pretending.” Wilcox’s murmured voice expressed the doubt that still slithered in Christine’s belly. She wouldn’t put it beyond any enemy to pull a trick.

  “Agreed.” Christine nodded, turned back to face the people downhill. “Go ahead and keep hold of the stretcher. But the rest of you keep your hands up. Come forward. Slowly now.”

  The group walked forward, and it seemed to Christine that they took an eternity to cross the distance. When they were twenty-five yards away, they passed through a patch of sunlight and Christine let out a long sigh.

  “It’s Fletcher all right.” And that wasn’t the only person she recognized.

  There were five of them in all, not including the one on the stretcher, whom she couldn’t see, and she knew all of them from the fort garrison — Becker on the other end of the stretcher from Fletcher, Gosse in front, Maher and Gram tagging behind.

  Christine motioned the marines to lower their rifles, then stood slowly up.

  They flinched when they saw her, clearly not expecting anyone to pop out of the bushes in front of them.

  “Lieuten—uh, Captain Flores, Fifth Platoon, Third Rangers.”

  They gaped at her, recognition crossing their faces. Then Gosse fell to his knees and started crying softly.

  “You’re the damned most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Fletcher said, shaking his head, his voice cracking with emotion.

  Then you’ve hit rock bottom, bud.

  Christine held back her reply, seeing her own dirty, stained appearance in her head.

  “We’ve been lost out here for days, trying to find you,” Private Gram said.

  Christine felt an unexpected relief move through her. She’d assumed everyone from the fort was dead or captured.

  “We’re glad you made it.” Wilcox was by Christine’s side now. He gestured over to the marines, who stepped out of the trees, slung their rifles, and walked toward the group. By the surprised look on Fletcher’s face, he hadn’t seen them either.

  “What’s your condition?” Christine’s eyes flew over the tattered group, taking in their stained, filthy uniforms, their haggard faces, their cracked and dried lips. She re-engaged the thumb safety on her pistol, holstered the weapon, stepped forward, and unclipped her water bottle. She held it out to Private Maher, who snatched it immediately.

  “Corporal Cassas is wounded. A bullet to her leg. The rest of us are…okay.” Maher passed the water bottle to Gram, who gulped greedily from it.

  “Get her up to the infirmary immediately.” Wilcox motioned at the marines, who took the stretcher from Fletcher and Private Becker. Christine could almost hear the creaking soreness in Fletcher and Becker’s muscles as they stretched their arms.

  “I want to hear about what happened at the fort,” Wilcox said. “But let’s take care of you first.” He gestured up the hill.

  They started walking slowly, as if their bodies refused to work now that they knew they were out of immediate danger. Christine strode over to
Gosse, who was still on his knees, and helped him gently to his feet.

  “Come on, soldier. I’ve got you. That’s it.” She kept her arm around his back as they shuffled up the hill, a few steps behind the others. She could hear Fletcher describing the attack on the fort, his voice hollow and flat, as if he were recounting a story from someone else’s life.

  “They came in through an open counterscarp bunker. They were on top of us before we could respond.” Fletcher took Christine’s water canteen from Gram’s outstretched arm and tipped it up, draining the last drop.

  “We locked out the missile controls and escaped through the water cisterns,” Fletcher continued. “We left Sergeant Brécourt with some others. I… I don’t think they made it. We got to the forest, but Captain Holden…” Fletcher trailed off.

  Christine swallowed, tightened her grip on Gosse. She had avoided thinking about all the people she’d known at the fort, how they’d met their end. She’d had her own platoon to worry about, and she wasn’t going to get torn up and let her rangers down over something she couldn’t change. But now she could see Holden and Brécourt in front of her, gasping, falling, screaming in pain. She hadn’t known them all that well, just the occasional conversation when her platoon had passed through the fort from time to time to re-supply, but she’d heard enough to know they were good soldiers, better than Neville deserved.

  Neville.

  Christine looked around, almost expecting the colonel to saunter out of the woods and start insulting her. If these people had made it out of the command center, what had happened to him?

  “You soldiers can rest easy,” Wilcox was saying, his hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “In just a couple days, the Verdun is going to take out the enemy fleet and start bombarding the fort from orbit. It’s all over.”

  Fletcher stopped in his tracks, causing Christine to almost bump into him.