The Mighty First, Episode 1: Special Edition

by Unknown

  Graduating basic had been rather anti-climactic in that they had been allowed to skip the Crucible, and a formal ceremony. She was a full-fledged marine. Her goal had been met, and now that she’d accomplished what she set out to do, searched for the feelings of accomplishment that she had been so certain she’d have. There were none. At least, not in the way she’d expected.

  Minerva leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and prayed.

  The morning sun had just broken the horizon, setting the Attayan sky ablaze in a brilliant orange tinged with pinks against the high clouds already forming over the coast. They were pulling further inland every day, teasing with the promise of rain, only to pull back again come nightfall.

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  Soon. Marine Colonal Alfred Josta thought. Storms are coming, and not just the kind that bring rain.

  The view from the upper balcony of his commandant’s mansion was unequaled from anywhere else on the base. He leaned against the concrete railing, swirling a tumbler of scotch whiskey, listening to the single cube of ice bouncing against the crystal.

  Drinking before breakfast. You’re getting old, Al.

  From the third floor, he could look over the entire training area. He watched the recruit companies being marched over to the armory, where they would be fitted out, and issued their weapons far too early in the normal training phase. The junior companies would provide base security while completing an accelerated version of basic, just enough to have them ready to throw into the fires. More recruits were arriving by bus, fresh from Earth, or regions around Attaya itself. Josta wondered how long the volunteer rate would hold up. Until shit hit the fan. Once the body count began to rise, the numbers would plummet. After that would come a draft.

  Conscripts. He weighed the word in his mind with distaste. He could not fathom his Corps being filled with people that did not want to be there. Combat effectiveness would suffer, as would morale. Disenchantment would spread like a cancer within the ranks. That frightened him perhaps more than the thought of going to war with the Storians.

  Josta took another swallow, and savored the burn as the amber liquid made its way down. His face, which was beginning to reflect the years of rugged wear to begin with, had taken on a worn look. The lines deeper, bags beneath his eyes thicker. The only thing that remained sharp was his regulation haircut, one that had mixed with silver and grey long ago.

  “Looking bleaker by the freaking hour, Dwayne.”

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  When he spoke, his voice was filtered through a gravel pit filled with shards of glass. He felt the weight of worlds on his shoulders.

  Sitting at a patio table behind him, a cleaned plate of eggs and bacon pushed aside for the mug of coffee, Master Sergeant Ford remained silent. Still in his armor, he had one leg propped up on an empty chair, taking a leisurely pull from his cigar. It was not uncommon for the NCO to be seen in the company of the commandant, who openly held high regard for the man. Ford had earned a hard-carved reputation that was known in all levels of the command structure.

  When no response came, Josta turned to face him, still holding his drink.

  “Denmoore fell about an hour ago.”

  Ford paused in mid-puff, his leg coming down from the chair, “Grozet really did it? I had the idea he was going to posture in orbit, and try to threaten his way back into the Trade Alliance.”

  Josta sighed, emptied his tumbler.

  “They used nukes, Dwayne.”

  Ford’s eyes widened. It was not easy to bring such an expression of shock to his face.

  Josta nodded, confirming his words, “High-altitude warheads. Clean, no radiation, which was a screaming billboard that said he intended to launch a ground invasion. The EMP’s took out power and communications. Bombers hit their ground defenses, air fields, highways, and rail lines, all across the capital mainland.

  “Heavy tank divisions landed, as did about a hundred thousand shock troops, and they plowed a path straight into the capital city…the regional governor surrendered about forty five

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  minutes ago.”

  Ford glanced at the chronometer mounted in his wrist plate, “All of that in the past five hours?”

  Josta nodded, smiling sadly, regarding his empty tumbler with mild surprise, “Yep. The Storians certainly do have their shit together.”

  The tone of defeat in the old man’s voice bothered Ford beyond words. The master sergeant rose, and took the tumbler from him, heading for the wet bar just inside the patio doors, “I can imagine Prime Minister Ro’s reaction to that news.”

  Josta made a face, “Attaya declared war. It’s official, now.”

  “And the U.E.?” Ford asked as he refilled the drink.

  The colonel returned his gaze to the parade grounds, speaking over his shoulder, “Oh, you know damn well Reyes is going to ask the Global Congress for permission to follow suit. It’s all anyone can think about, saddle up and ride!” His voice was sarcastic. Angry. Afraid.

  He nodded thanks as Ford stepped beside him, handing over a full glass.

  “They have no idea, Dwayne,” he went on. “No concept of what this is going to be like. Of what it could do to us.”

  Ford leaned on the rail with his friend, “They might not. Thing is, how much worse would it be if we didn’t stand up to the Storians?”

  Josta took another long drink, winced.

  “They’re professionals at their trade. Storia hasn’t turned its back on war like we have.”

  That angered Ford, “Damn it, Al, so are we! I’ve busted my

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  ass for almost twenty years to be the best at what I do, and to train our recruits the same way! This Grozet claims to be the best, then we’ll put that to the test. I’ll tell you one thing right now, I’d rather die trying, than to just lay down, and wait for him to roll over me!”

  Josta chuckled at Ford’s ire, “You always were full of piss and vinegar.”

  Ford’s angry expression softened, and he allowed a grin.

  The colonel looked as if he remembered something, “Fetch that yellow envelope from my desk, would you?”

  The master sergeant did so, handing it over as he tapped ashes over the side of the balcony. Josta opened it, and held out the sheet of paper within it. Ford took it, and read it over. Looked up, then read it again.

  “Congratulations, First Sergeant,” Josta told him.

  “I’m being promoted to a Top?”

  The colonel nodded, still grinning, “Orders came down from Division this morning. You’re taking over the First Battalion, under Major Gold. You can catch a ride over to Fort Dixon on one of the transfer buses.”

  Josta held out one hand, “You’ll be missed around here, Dwayne. Fact is, they’re going to need people like you on the line. Rip those S.O.B.’s a new asshole for me.”

  Ford shook hands with the man that had become his friend over the years, having no idea at the time that he’d never see him again.

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  Fort Dixon, Attaya

  United Earth Military Reservation

  The newly graduate marines were disappointed to learn that all leaves had been cancelled, thanks to the alert. With sour faces, the kids exited the buses, lugging every piece of clothing and equipment that they had been issued, including weapons. There were mumbled curses abound, but no amount of griping would change the fact that for the immediate future, they would be seeing only the inside of Marine Base Dixon.

  Stepping down onto the sidewalk, squeezing her load through the narrow opening, Minerva took in the scenery around her. Unlike Camp Madison, Fort Dixon was literally a city within castle walls. Once beyond the heavily guarded main gate, the layout was chiefly like that of an average town, with stores, fast food, gas stations, and a recreation center. This area was to cater to the civilian families that followed service members. Ten square miles that even included a school district.

  Through another gate, which required a military I.D., or commercial pass for the
buses, brought them to the military side. The buildings here were massively constructed, designed to withstand bombing. There were anti-aircraft batteries spaced between them. Large prefab structures to house vehicles, munitions, and supplies. There was even an air field that housed the combat wings which supported all of the ground units.

  She stood on the wide sidewalk outside of the headquarters building, watching a mammoth Galaxy C-130 shuttle-jet cruising low toward the landing strip. It was huge, and loud. Gazing off in the direction of the field, she could see helo-shuttles coming and going. It was a swarm of activity that seemed to bode ill to her. Ford’s words echoed ceaselessly in her head.

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  The crowd of fresh marines was growing steadily, enough to get the attention of those in the lobby. A sergeant finally came out, his Class-B’s looking out of place among all of the armor.

  “Alright, Jarheads! Form up, for God’s sake! Make some lines off to the side, and I’ll start taking you in ten at a time! Come on!”

  Minerva and Ecu remained close together while they waited outside, trying to avoid thinking too much about what they had too few facts about. Instead, the more obvious was stated.

  “This might be where we say goodbye to one another, girl.” Ecu said.

  Minerva nodded. There were three battalions in the division, and they could be assigned to any one of them. Odds were that the girls would be heading in different directions.

  “Well, there’s always weekends,” she offered her Attayan friend.

  Ecu forced a smile, but it was strained.

  They fell into an uneasy silence, watching the goings-on on the civilian side of the base. The commissary, which was easily as large as any full-size supermarket, sported a parking lot that was literally filled to the gills. The gas stations had lines of cars stretching down the street, blocking one traffic lane. People hurried about their business. It was the scene of a community on the edge of panic.

  Finally, it was time for the girls’ group to be taken in. The sergeant led them through the lushly furnished lobby, and into a series of plain offices beyond. Clerks manning the desks bore a harried look, typing furiously on their computers, and ruffling through stacks of papers. The sergeant fanned the kids out, having them stand one before each clerk.

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  Minerva was placed in front of a severe-looking woman. The staff sergeant had a SafeSmoke sticking from one corner of her mouth, which bobbed up and down when she talked.

  “You failed to specify an MOS preference when you signed your enlistment papers,” she scowled.

  Minerva shrugged, “I didn’t know I was supposed to, Staff Sergeant. What’s an MOS?”

  The woman rolled her eyes, “Christ! The recruiters aren’t telling you guys anything anymore, are they?”

  Minerva shrugged again.

  With a sigh, the clerk explained gruffly, “Your MOS is the occupational profession you’ll be performing in the Corps.” She looked Minerva up and down, “Any particular skills you can tell me about, Corporal?”

  Minerva thought for a moment, “I don’t know, I just got out of high school.”

  The staff sergeant made a notation on her file, taking an extra look at the red ‘A’ before handing it back.

  “You’re assigned to infantry. First Battalion, Eighty Third Combat Regiment. Report to Captain Palmer.”

  Minerva’s eyes bulged, “Did you say First Battalion?”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  She could not stop the smile, “Nothing. I just know someone there.”

  The staff sergeant caught the blush, “Sure,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes again. She made a shooing motion.

  Minerva wandered back outside, smiling from ear to ear. She

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  waited until Ecu came out, looking frazzled. The girls met, and shared a tense moment.

  “Okay,” Ecu said, letting out a breath, “what’d you get?”

  “Infantry. First Battalion.”

  Ecu let out a shrill squeal, her facial fur flaring from within her open helmet. Heads turned in curiosity as she began laughing, “Me, too!”

  They joined by one other. One tall, broad-shouldered kid by the nickname of Lunk. He was grinning, too. By incredible chance, the three of them would be able to remain together. At least, they thought as much, until Lunk pointed out what they had overlooked.

  “Same battalion, yeah, but who knows what companies we’ll get?”

  Ecu smacked him on the arm plate, “Thanks for spoiling the moment!”

  Another bus ride delivered the newly graduated marines to the two-story brick buildings that lined Battalion Boulevard. As the kids disembarked, they saw that every other marine outside was also wearing their battle suits, but carried only their rifles, strapped over one shoulder. It was somewhat a relief in knowing they would soon be able to put down their heavy gear somewhere.

  According to which battalion they had been assigned, the kids began to spread out, friends giving one another goodbyes. The buildings bore large, illuminated numbers that identified them as to which battalion was housed where. Minerva started off in the direction of the 1st, with Ecu, Lunk, and several others in-tow. It was a subtle act that escaped her notice, in fact, something that had

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  been occurring more than once over the past weeks. The kids were tending to fall in behind her more often than not, allowing her to take the lead.

  Entering through the main set of double doors, they stepped into a small area known as the quarterdeck, essentially a non-descript lobby that led to each of the two company areas on the first floor, and administrative offices upstairs.

  A marine lance corporal was standing watch at the desk, and he let out a noise of exasperation.

  “Gawd! More of you?”

  “Happy to see you, too,” Minerva quipped.

  The young man flipped through a notebook while at the same time noting their arrival in the watch log, “Alright, alright. Lemme figure out where I’m gonna put you. I need to see your assignment sheets, hand ‘em over.”

  He skimmed through them, muttering to himself, writing things down. “Okay, Alpha Company needs two squad leaders yet, so both of you corporals will go there. The rest of you fools head to the right, you’ll be going to Bravo. Report to Captain Weathers.”

  The kid looked up at Minerva, “You still here? What?”

  “Alpha Company is this way?” She asked, nodding her head to her left, since her hands were full.

  “Yeah. Captain Palmer. You want a written invite, or what?”

  Ecu nudged her along. They bid farewell to Lunk, and started down the short hall. The far end was an open entrance to the squad bay, and the nearer that her steps took her to it, the more butterflies bloomed in Minerva’s stomach. She was awash in a mixture of emotions.

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  After climbing the long ladder of days through basic training to reach the status of a senior recruit, she was once again the new person. Despite having earned the title, she was fresh meat among those that had been around before her. Judging by the curtness of the marines she’d interacted with around base so far, the attitude toward new arrivals seemed to be rather terse.

  The bay was every bit the same as the one from Camp Madison, this one full of off-duty personnel. Some lounged on their bunks in underclothes, reading, or listening to music. Others congregated in small groups. Some were coming and going from the showers. There appeared to be quite a bit of activity from the company lounge, down by the NCO’s quarters.

  Minerva spotted several unoccupied racks, their thin mattresses rolled up on top of the metal springs. Instinctively moving to avoid clustering by the entrance, she headed in that direction.

  Dropping her load on the deck before the empty rack, she let out a breath, and pulled her helmet off. Ecu claimed the bunk across from her while the other kids they’d come in with spread out to choose their own among the sea of marines.

  From the top bunk across from Minerva’s, an Attayan g
irl that had been absorbed in a magazine closed it, and looked down at her. The girl’s fur was pure white, one of the rare breed of Attayan albinos.

  “Hey, there, new girl.”

  Minerva offered a half-smile, “Hey.”

  The albino extended a hand, “I’m Corporal Amell, boss-lady for Third Squad.”

  While most went on a first-name basis, it was a moot point among Attayans, who only used a single name anyway. It was a fact

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  that Ecu had taught Minerva early on.

  “Corporal Carreno, but you can call me Minerva.”

  Amell seemed to consider that, “That’s a pretty name. Welcome to Alpha Company.”

  “Thanks. This is Corporal Ecu, my best friend.”

  Amell and Ecu exchanged nods.

  “Second, and Fourth Squads need leaders, so expect to be put in charge of them,” Amell told the pair. “You two pretty much round-out our shortage of junior NCO’s.”

  Ecu was already beginning to stow her gear into the stand-up locker attached to her rack, “I guess we’re supposed to report in with Captain Palmer.”

  The albino made a dismissive gesture, “The cap is almost never around, and Lieutenant Wood hasn’t come back from leave yet. We’re getting a new Top, I hear, but he hasn’t come in yet, either.”

  “A Top?” Minerva asked.

  “Company First Sergeant,” Amell explained. “Ours died about a week ago. Heart attack, can you believe that noise?”

  Minerva tossed her helmet into her own locker, and secured her rifle on its hook, “So, who do we report in with, then?”

  “Try the platoon sergeant, I think he’s in the lounge.”

  “What’s his name?” Ecu wanted to know, shoving her duffle into the locker, and situating her combat harness so that it could be grabbed at a moment’s notice.

  “Corbin.”

  Minerva froze, which caught Amell’s attention.

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