by Shuvom Ghose
"Split! Go to fall back positions!" I yelled, and Zazlu started peeling right while Juan peeled left. First a little, and then more until they were pulling directly away from each other. I could look straight and see Ann-Marie being pulled backwards up her side of the valley just like I was, to our fall back positions against opposing rock walls.
As soon as the heavy stopped I unhooked the harness and dropped into a shooter's stance laying forward, trying to clear my spinning head. I made one pass, then a second over the hill we had just come down, looking for the monster that was hunting us, and then aimed my rifle at the target we had agreed on. At Ann-Marie.
We had spray painted rings of black circles around each fall back position last night. If we were going to fight a camouflaged enemy, at least we'd make him cross some black lines to get to us so we could see him. So the opposing sniper could hopefully shoot him before he killed the other one. Yes, I understood the irony of waiting at the center of a huge bull's eye with a sniper's rifle, but I lowered my eye to the scope and targeted Butcher.
Zazlu stood across my body, flamethrowers and Gatling gun at the ready, but I could hear him swinging the Heavy's arms side to side, trying to find anything to target. He couldn't really see the black painted lines from his vantage point, only Ann-Marie could. As I could see hers.
Through the scope, I could see her brush her short sandy-blond hair from her eyes before she laid into the scope again, see her breath cloud as she panted.
"I got you, Butcher," I said. "We've got this."
"Yes sir," she said, and I saw her mouth move as she said it.
And then we waited again. Only seconds this time, but they were long seconds. I watched Butcher through my crosshairs and she watched me.
Fuck- how many green lights did I have? We were so far north, we had gone down to just two lights on the flight here, and then we had covered the lights at night to not give us away. I could be down to no signal!
I felt a brief moment of panic. Would I rather the yeti go for Butcher instead of me? No, that was my fear talking, and I pushed the thought away. But it came roaring back the moment I saw Ann-Marie frown and pull her trigger.
Twenty feet from me a sprinting yeti roared as his leg was hit below the knee. Blue blood splashed in front of me but he still kept coming, a white shadow driving down his massive arm to aim for my head. Butcher had missed the kill shot.
Zazlu threw his Heavy in front of my death again and the yeti howled as his fist bounced off the titanium frame. And even as I sensed him raise his other arm, I still could barely see the blank white furry thing which was going to kill me.
Red-Stripe burst up out of the snow like Jaws taking a swimming co-ed and stabbed his razor claw up into yeti's the plunging arm, holding him silhouetted up against the rocky background for a one breath. And then Butcher blew its chest open.
Red-Stripe stabbed the yeti in the spine as it was falling and then the thing was finally dead.
We all just sat and panted for a few seconds.
"I sense no more," the spider said. "Only two Thought Eaters made this outpost their home."
Zazlu lifted his heavy off of where it had mashed me into the snow and asked, "How did you know to tunnel to this side instead of the other?"
Red-Stripe pointed at me. "His thoughts of fear and panic were much louder than the Butcher's."
"Thanks," I coughed, standing up. "I think." Every muscle in my back and legs ached from the sled ride. My eye burned from the strain of staring through the scope for hours and my hands were shaking with excess adrenaline.
"What did you call this method of hunting- sniping?" Red-Stripe asked, cleaning his bloody claws in the snow. "I enjoy it. It is exciting."
Jinx picked us up a few hours later. Enough time to collect eight frozen and mostly non-eaten skulls from the outpost and to skin the two White Thought Eaters for their pelts. When Butcher held a pelt up in front of her, she disappeared into the snowy background like she wasn't there.
"This is insane," Juan said, staring at it. "It's like a cloaking device!"
"Or black magic," Zaz added. "Maybe it is a psychic effect?"
"The Eater may add to the prey's confusion while alive, casting its thoughts out, but certainly not now, after death," Red-Stripe said, getting into the helicopter first and pulling himself into a tight ball.
"Either way, we're keeping them," I said, securing Juan's heavy to one skid and Zaz to the other. With the spider, eight skulls, Butcher, me, and our gear in the chopper it was a cozy fit, but we managed.
"This is what the Trojan Horse must have been like, yes?" Red-Stripe said after a few minutes.
"I'm going to stop teaching you stuff," I grumbled, but soon was chuckling with the others.
And I broke my promise almost right away. On the long flight back, we reminisced about the near-disaster on the left flank during the boazelle hunt, and Red-Stripe admitted that was where they usually put their weakest or youngest hunters. So I had to tell him about Epaminondas overturning 200 years of Greek history by putting his strongest fighters on the left side instead of the right, to break the back of the mighty Spartan army.
Which led to us discussing Epaminondas' campaign against Sparta itself, which of course lead to talking about Sherman's March to the Sea, which led to us explaining the German Blitzkrieg as Jinx was finally landing the helo inside the spider village itself.
"You know, our race has a lot of other famous history besides war," I said, swinging onto the ground and unhooking Juan and Zaz. "The invention of Jazz. Pizza. The Moon Landing."
The large spider scooted sideways until he could unfurl his legs and step out of the helicopter. "The military history interests me the most, Lieutenant Forrest. I am already telling the other hunters about the Blitzkrieg as we speak. I may ask for more details later."
"Very well," I sighed.
Ann-Marie came up to me, sweating as she peeled off her snow-suit. "Leave our winter gear here, sir?"
Sneaking the .50 cals and snowsuits out of the armory had been tough. But sneaking them back IN, into the right crates, in seemingly unused condition, would be much tougher. My joints already ached from being dragged behind the Heavy. All I needed was for Hughes to catch us and run us to the farm tonight.
"Yeah," I said. "Add them to the stockpile."
We had started leaving equipment at the spider village, stuff we couldn't be seen stepping off a helo with. A cargo net with tree-monkey teeth marks on it. Trash can lids we had used as cymbals to drive boazelles in front of us. And now snow suits and winter weapons. I also ordered Zaz to add ten assault rifles, 5000 rounds of ammo, ten shoulder-fired missiles, med-kits, boxes of grenades and a week's supply of field rations for 10 humans. We didn't need any of that for our normal missions, but I just had this feeling.
I stripped out of my snowsuit and into standard fatigues right out in the open. It's not like the spiders cared. Ann-Marie had Juan put his Heavy in between us and her, and she came out the other side buttoning up.
I turned to Red-Stripe, who was being attended by his two wives. "So there's not any more of those yetis, right? Just like the river snake?"
"It is not known. They must live in the snow areas, but we only created the outpost last year."
Okay, that begged the obvious question. "So, what was the point of that outpost again?"
"Over that mountain ridge, there is another wet valley. Another vast stretch of hunting grounds. The Northern spider clan, ruled by just one alpha male and his thugs."
Ah. "And so you placed hunters there to watch them."
"Yes. And now we can return to the outpost, to make sure they do not approach us. I may even send twenty hunters, to perform a 'March to the Sea' as Sherman did. The other clan is spread thinly. Portions of them can be easily cut off from their hunting grounds, weakening them. A strong push may cause a revolt against their leader." Red-Stripe looked thoughtful. "We may even do a Blitzkrieg."
Oh fuck, what had I done? Would my teac
hings tip some delicate Spider balance and lead to a horrible, destructive- ahhhhh, whatever. I had enough responsibility keeping base politics straight; I didn't have time to worry about spider politics, too. Red-Stripe was an adult. Better to just focus on the opportunities.
"So you're saying there won't be any hunting parties crossing the valley for a while?"
"Correct. It will take many days to march our hunters north over the mountain and Blitzkrieg the neighboring clan."
I smiled. "Perfect."
The kneeling farmers fired their rifles freely at the line of trees we had marked with paint, most of them hitting home. They were definitely getting better. Zazlu and Juan paced around the edges of the firing line, flamethrowers at the ready. We knew there wouldn't be any Hell-Spiders around but we didn't need an ambitious lightning snake or boazelle harshing our buzz. Ann-Marie walked along behind the firing line, giving tips to those still missing the tree trunks at a hundred yards. I stood even further back with Tornier, both our rifles slung low.
I nodded at the firing line. "Sure you don't want to join them? We won't get another chance like this for a while."
"I think I'm good enough with this by now," he said, patting his rifle, then spitting. "Used it the other day to pick off one of those tree-monkeys that was trying to climb over the fence. Had a big, sharp nasty stinger just like you said it would. Didn't want it getting around the kids. How come only your squad seems to know about all the animals on this deadly planet?"
I smirked. "We had a good teacher."
"And how come only your squad is the only one who's teaching us how to survive here? Helping train us how to defend ourselves?"
"Because we're the only squad that doesn't want to be here forever."
Tornier looked at me up and down with his sun-squinted eyes, then nodded. "Fair enough." He spat again.
"How are your crops coming along?"
Tornier shrugged. "The wheat died right away, but we figured it would, being so wet. Same with tomatoes. But the New Zealand spinach is taking. That'll grow in anything. And the local pests won't touch it, just like back home. So we may have something there. Jury's still out on corn."
"That's good," I said. "We can't bring all our food through the gate forever."
We watched the farmers fire away at the trees for another few seconds, then Tornier said, "Thanks again for doing this. I just hope it doesn't get you guys in trouble."
"Jinx hid our flight path pretty well after we picked you up. There are a thousand lies I can give for why we landed in the farmland first. We should be ok-."
"Lieutenant Jonah FORREST," a voice blared inside my head. Clearer than a Spider- what the hell? Then I recognized it. Oakley. The emergency channel. The implants. "Report to my office at once."
All of the squad were holding their ears and looking at me as the message started again.
"Lieutenant Jonah-"
"Yes, I'm here!" I said, grabbing for my mike. "Message received! I'm pulling my entire squad back at once! Forrest out."
I covered my mike as Ann-Marie walked over, still rubbing her ears. "I hope that doesn't become a regular thing," she said, covering her mike as well.
I nodded. Had that been Oakley, or a recording? Had he heard our conversation? How much? What if he just started listening in at random intervals? We had fooled Hughes for one mission but couldn't play that game all the time. This boded poorly.
Jinx dropped the farmers off in their field then landed on the flightline, next to four shiny, brand new Apache attack helicopters. Literally shiny, because the crews were hand-washing them clean with soapy sponges and buckets. Because that mattered.
We stepped off our dusty, dented, mud-covered helicopter and walked up to the new ones. There was a six-barreled, heavy caliber chain gun sticking out the nose, made for piercing the armor of battle tanks and exploding them from the inside. Each helicopter had two stubby wings near its middle, and under each wing there were two pods holding sixteen shiny missiles each.
"Probably even heat-seeking," Zazlu said next to me.
I nodded. Just one of these choppers could wipe out Red-Stripe's entire village or the river snake in just one pass. And now we had four of them.
"Take them in, Zaz," I sighed. "I've got to go report to Oakley."
Oakley had a cute administration private in a decidedly shorter-than-regulation dress skirt as his receptionist and two BlackShirts with auto-shotguns as security. I got a cheerful smile from the busty receptionist and scowls from the burly BlackShirts' as I was buzzed in. I wondered whose pictures Oakley had spent more time looking over in the privacy of his office before hiring.
The inner office had a large executive desk and a thousand stupid awards and pictures of things that didn't mean a damn on this planet. There were pictures of Oakley meeting all sorts of brass at the Pentagon, politicians at the UN, and for some reason, him standing behind a Little League team. There was also a larger-than-necessary color picture of Oakley pinning the private's rank on the exact same smiling receptionist that sat three feet outside his door. That answered that question.
The people inside were equally ornamental. Oakley sat behind his desk, dress uniform immaculate as always, Hughes stood behind and to Oakley's right in his always-ready-to-run PT gear, and there was some bureaucrat I had never seen before in a pressed, tailored suit on the couch against the wall.
A bureaucrat in clothes that were actually stylish? And his shoes were too expensive for middle management but well broken in without showing any signs of wear. Weird.
I also realized that, for all the show of security outside, the Colt .45 on my hip was the only weapon in the room.
I snapped to attention in front of Oakley's desk. "General, sir!"
"Come right from the field, Lieutenant?"
"Yes sir."
"Try to take a minute to wipe your feet next time."
I followed his gaze behind me and saw the small trail of dirt I had tracked onto his carpet. Carpet? Did everyone on base have that except for us?
"Yes sir."
"At ease. Sit."
I did. Hughes was giving me a rude smirk and the bureaucrat was ignoring me entirely, reading something on the digital pad resting on his crossed legs.
"Let's get the silly stuff out of the way first," Oakley said, pushing some forms at me. "I hereby award you the golden cross with oak clusters, for meritorious service in action against the enemy on Angie's Star II. With regards from a grateful planet, et cetera, et cetera."
I took the printed piece of paper. It had a picture of the medal on it above my name and barcode number.
"This, of course, is for your efforts in clearing valley 1X5J," he said, putting the folder away.
Oh shit. "They gave me a MEDAL for that?"
"Yes. And for the other squad leaders as well. We held their official awards ceremony in the cafeteria an hour ago. All First Lieutenants and their seconds will receive a bump in pay grade and a permanent mention in their service records. All enlisted will receive the mention and elevated consideration for OCS."
Double shit. None of those other fools had learned anything worth promoting from their time in the valley. Which we only cleared because I could do a good Flores impression. How far was this one little lie going to ripple out?
As that idea swam through my head, I became aware that the bureaucrat was looking intently at me. As if my face was giving away all my thoughts. Oakley couldn't read me worth a damn, but some desk humper from Earth could? Who was this guy?
"But more importantly, Lieutenant," Oakley said, drawing my eye back to him, "the issue today is what to do about the actions of Infinity Squad since First Lieutenant Ridley was killed in the field."
I stiffened. "Our actions since then should speak for themselves, sir."
Oakley grimaced. "Yes, let's see. 135 reported Hell-Spider contacts, 15 firefights, 41 reported kills and 23 skulls collected. A markedly different pace than your 0 contacts, 0 firefights, 0 reported kills record of
the previous month."
He looked at another sheet of paper. I saw a flash of charts and tables, expertly prepared. "Over the same time period, all other squads have reported a 15 to 100 percent decrease in contacts, firefights and kills, and yet we have cleared a huge swath of territory ahead of schedule. A combination of numbers that some have told me is statistically impossible."
It was quick, but I caught it- Oakley had wanted to look at the bureaucrat as he had said that last line, but he had forced himself not to. But he had shaded his body towards the man. The source of the statistics.
Without being obvious I looked him over again. He was extremely clean cut. His jet black hair was trimmed so neatly I could imagine each hair being cut by hand. He wore wire-rim glasses, precise and sharp. He looked to be of Spanish descent, old world from Spain, not south of the border like Juan.
So he was good with numbers? But from his wiry body and the alert but relaxed way he sat, I couldn't imagine the bureaucrat spending hours and hours behind a desk. Who was this guy?
"So how do you explain that, Lieutenant?" Oakley asked me.
From the scowl on his face I knew this wasn't the time to be flippant. So I scrolled though my dialogue options and choose the least sassy one.
"Michael Jordan won six NBA championships in 8 years. Some would have called that statistically impossible too."
Hughes almost choked. "You're comparing your sack of weak-kneed, useless misfits to Mic-"
"Easy, Sergeant Major," the General chuckled, then gave me that stupid cocky grin of his. "Well, Lieutenant, we're going to give you the chance to prove it. From now on, every time you take Infinity Squad members outside the security fence, you will take an equal number of officers and soldiers from one of the other squads. You are going to teach your magic secrets to all the rest of us."
