by Rick Partlow
The others hadn’t abandoned me, hadn’t given in to the shock of the orbital strike. Pops and Rodent were on either side of me, the rest of the Delta team filling in the line of what amounted to a firing squad. Some of the Ranger squad had joined us as well, though others still hung back behind the wall, slow to move. It was all right. We didn’t need them. In seconds, there was no further movement from the trench.
“Cease fire,” I ordered, then had to repeat it twice more before the last of us let off the trigger.
Silence descended over the scene, so complete I could hear nothing but the patter of dirt and rock falling out of the sky, out of the debris cloud still rising from the Tevynian base.
“I fucking repeat,” Rodent said, staring at me, “what the fuck was that?”
“That was what we call fire support,” Pops answered for me. “God help us all.”
“Gunfighter One, this is Gunfighter Two,” Dani Brooks said into my ear. “We’re clear. The fighters made a run for the other side of the planet when they saw the blast. We’ll be landing in a half an hour to reinforce your position. Three is headed back to orbit to grab repair parts and a crew to get your bird working again. Over.”
“Roger that, Two.” I sighed, the energy running out of me, the post-adrenaline shakes already starting. One good thing about the Svalinn, I might get weak in the knees, but it never would. “We’ll be ready.”
The gate, I saw, was gone. It had been blown inward, then bounced off the earthmover parked against it and tumbled in two pieces on the hard-packed road into the city. There was just enough of a gap between the vehicle and the wall for a man to squeeze through. Or a Helta.
I didn’t recognize Fen-Sooyan at first, but I didn’t know who else would risk coming out here, so I figured it had to be him. He was staring at the destruction, wide-eyed, his eyes going from the mushroom cloud to the Tevynian dead, then back to us.
“What have we done?” he asked, voice filled with fear.
“What you had to,” I told him, too tired to try to be reassuring. “Just like the rest of us.”
***
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the metal hatch before I finally knocked on it. I was exhausted, drained, the recently-treated burns still stinging beneath my fresh clothes and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing here. But the Delta boys were having a drink I couldn’t share, and I couldn’t sit in my compartment and stew and I didn’t know where else to go.
Julie Nieves answered. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top, what I recognized by now as her normal sleepwear. The room was dark behind her. Her eyebrow shot up at the sight of me.
“What you doing out and about this late?” she asked me. “You ground-pounders had a rough mission. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“Couldn’t,” I said, leaning against the bulkhead just outside her door. The passage was empty, so I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing us. And I wouldn’t have been anyway. “I thought maybe you might want to go get some food….”
“I already ate,” she told me, stepping closer. I could feel the heat coming off her skin, feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek. Her hand went behind my neck and she pulled me into her compartment and into a kiss. “Shut up and take me to bed, Major.”
It was an order I was prepared to follow.
Chapter Fifteen
I stared into the unseeing eyes of Jacob Chamberlain. Someone had thumbed them closed before we’d boarded the helicopters, but they’d popped back open on their own. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. It would have been disrespectful to ignore him.
The only thing that could pull my gaze away from the dead Marine was the kid. His expression was as lifeless as Chamberlain’s, and only the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders gave any sign he was more than a second corpse propped up in a seat. Jambo sat beside Paulo Martijena, a hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if worried the kid might throw himself out the open door of the chopper. He’d ordered the body of Laura Martijena transported in the other bird, so the kid wouldn’t be forced to stare at her the way I was staring at Chamberlain.
I was plugged into the helo’s communications system, but no one was talking. There was nothing to say. Later, there would be. There would be a long and awkward explanation to Captain Glenn, reports to fill out, a very painful letter to write to Chamberlain’s family, a memorial service on the company level and a smaller, more personal one we’d have on the platoon level where I’d have to run things. And I’d have to pretend that Lance Corporal Jacob Chamberlain was a valuable Marine who had always been an asset to the platoon instead of a constant pain in everyone’s ass.
“Two minutes out,” the pilot announced.
I looked up, surprised we’d already made it to the base camp. And then I was surprised because it was daytime. The sun had risen between the time we’d lifted off from Caracas and arrived in the mountains outside the city, but it seemed like we’d lost time along the way, as if the trip had taken days instead of just minutes.
There was a welcoming committee at the landing pad this time, Citizens’ Militia soldiers arranged on either side of Carlos Martijena, their weapons carried at low port. I met Jambo’s eyes as we stepped out of the helo.
“Is there gonna be trouble?” I asked, my voice dull and lifeless, sounding foreign to me, as if it was coming from a stranger.
“No,” he assured me, pain from his wound tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s an honor guard.”
Paulo’s face was ashen when he saw his father, pure fear.
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed to the Delta NCO, reluctantly following him as he stepped down from the Blackhawk to the cracked surface of what had once been a parking lot for the tourist area. “We can’t hand this kid over to Martijena. He’s terrified of him.”
The rest of the Delta team was disembarking on the other side of the bird, keeping it between them and the CM forces despite what Jambo had said about them. My Marines didn’t move, waiting on my order, one I wasn’t ready to give.
“He won’t hurt his son,” Jambo insisted, his mouth barely moving. “Just be cool.”
“How do you know he won’t hurt him?” I demanded, probably too loud since we were only about thirty yards from the general, but I was nearly past caring.
Jambo rounded on me, eyes flaring, for once losing the chill demeanor he’d shown even under fire.
“Because he knows I’d kill him if he did.”
I shut up, and just in time.
“Paulo, my son,” Martijena said, kneeling down and opening his arms. “I thank Mother Mary and all the saints that you are safe.”
The boy didn’t run away when Jambo let go of him, which either meant I was overestimating how afraid Paulo was of his father or underestimating how much control Martijena had over his son. The boy stepped forward slowly, fatalistically, and the general swept him into a hug, lifting him up as he stood to face us. His expression over his son’s shoulder was one of real gratitude, and a sense of relief took at least a bit of the weight off my shoulders. The general might have been a cynical, manipulative killer, but I did believe he loved the boy.
“I am so sorry about your mother, my son. Believe me when I say I will punish the people responsible for her death. I will not rest until this country is rid of them.”
He was staring at us as he said it and I chose to take it as a promise to support the US effort to defeat the EPV instead of the alternative, that he blamed us for his wife’s death and was going to kick us out of the country.
“I understand you lost one of your own bringing my son back to me,” Martijena said, and this time he was speaking directly to me. I wondered how he’d known, but I supposed the helicopter pilots must have radioed ahead to him.
“Yes, sir.” I didn’t want to talk to him. I was afraid I’d say something stupid and fuck up the whole thing, because I really wanted to say something stupid. “His name was Jacob Chamberlain. He was a very young man.”
Shit. I wasn’t muc
h more than a young man myself.
“He will be remembered,” Martijena promised me. “My men will retrieve Laura’s body from the aircraft.”
He nodded to one of his lieutenants, a short, broad-shouldered man with a scraggly beard unsuccessfully trying to hide nasty pockmarks. The pockmarked man snapped an order in Spanish to the honor guard and they jogged across the pavement, slinging their weapons over their shoulders, circling around to the second Blackhawk. My Marines were watching them, rifles at low ready but hands on their pistol grips, sullen resentment in their eyes.
I said nothing, didn’t even bother to watch them unload her body. I was staring at Martijena.
“She wanted to be there,” I blurted, unable to hold it in. Jambo glared at me but I ignored it. “She was one of them.”
I expected him to rail and rage at me, to be furious, but his face lengthened, his age finally showing.
“I know. I suppose I knew from the beginning.” Sadness dripped off of his words and I almost empathized with the old man who’d thought his young wife and young son would be a new start. “We lie to ourselves for love, though, don’t we?”
And then they were gone. The whole lot of them, the dead woman, the boy still in the general’s arms all loaded into the vehicles at the edge of the landing pad and left us behind. I watched them until the last of the trucks were out of sight, until the I couldn’t hear the rumble of the engines anymore.
“That’s it, then?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I was asking Jambo or God, but it was Jambo who answered.
“What did you expect?” he wondered. “A hug? We did our job.”
“I guess I expected a promise,” I told him. “I mean, we did this to secure his help, to make sure he would back us even though we aren’t officially backing him. I mean, I won’t even be able to tell Chamberlain’s parents how he died. I won’t be able to put him in for the medal he deserves for saving the kid. I guess I wanted Martijena to say this was enough, that he’d keep his word.”
Jambo’s laugh was a low rumble, almost a growl, but there was no anger behind his dark eyes, just a naked cynicism.
“That’s not how life works, Andy,” he told me. “Ain’t no guarantees. We do what we have to do and hope it means something in the end.”
I wanted to snap back at him, to tell him that was a shitty way of looking at the world, but then I remembered who I was talking to and how many shitholes like this he’d spent his career fighting in.
“Come on,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder, then wincing as the motion aggravated the pain in his arm. “Let’s get out of here so I can go get this looked at by a professional.”
“Don’t let Doc Peterson hear you say that,” I warned him. “You know how Navy corpsmen are.” I shrugged. “Or maybe you don’t, since you’re army.”
The pilots had already restarted the helicopters and the rotors were beginning to spin up as the two of us stepped into the bird.
“Hey,” Jambo said, leaning in closer to be heard over the rising whine of the engines, “I’m really sorry about your Marine. I know what it’s like. If you need to talk about it, I’m gonna be around. And don’t think you can get away with ignoring it and hoping it’ll go away, because it don’t.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to think about it, but I was going to have to, eventually.
“Thanks.”
“Also…” he trailed off, hesitating for a moment, and when he continued, he had to almost yell to be heard over the engines. “We’re gonna need support from time to time on operations here. Nothing like this again, I’m hoping, but I like having someone around I can count on. You mind if I ask for your platoon again? Or have you had enough of this shit?”
It was a good question. Gregory was sitting beside me, eyes half closed, like he might nod off at any point. I leaned over to him, nudging his arm.
“The Delta guys say they might want to use us again. What do you think about that?”
He shrugged.
“Shit sir, it sucks about Chamberlain and all, but being honest, this was the most fun I’ve had since we got here. And it sure as hell beats working with the SEALs.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter Sixteen
I hated flying commercial.
After riding in shuttles that could break Mach 20 on reentry and starships travelling faster than light, it seemed ludicrous to spend four and a half hours in the air and change planes to get from Boise to Austin. At least I could afford first class, though the money from the TV show wasn’t going to last forever and maybe I should think about selling my house in Vegas and renting a place somewhere closer to the Alpha Site.
This was going to be my life now. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet. No more arguments with my agent, no more touring the conventions, pimping my book and the show, no more late-night video chat sessions with the Propellers, my author Mastermind group. Three of us had TV or movie deals now, and there’d been a time not so long ago when I’d thought that was the most noteworthy organization I’d ever belong to.
“Hey, excuse me, dude.”
I blinked, focusing on my immediate surroundings and the young man sitting across the aisle from me. He was college age, I guessed, a notion confirmed by the evidence of the University of Texas sweatshirt he was wearing, and had the general lean fitness of an athlete. His family must be at least mildly well-off to spring for the first class ticket. I was guessing baseball or lacrosse, but then I realized I hadn’t answered him.
“Yes?” I replied, pulling half of “More Than a Feeling” out of my right ear to hear him better.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but you look just like that guy I saw on the news. The writer who met the aliens and got the Medal of Honor.”
“I get that a lot,” I said, smiling with what I hoped was a deflection.
“Oh, so you’re like, not him?” he asked, the air going out of him.
I sighed. I wanted to lie to him, but he seemed so damned disappointed. And he reminded me of someone, someone young and idealistic and annoying who I’d once known.
“No, I get it a lot because I am him.”
He frowned, started to say something and then visibly stalled and tried again.
“So, you are the dude?”
“Jeff Bridges is the Dude, but I’m Andy Clanton.”
“Yeah, that’s the name!” the kid said, snapping his fingers, as if he’d thought of it instead of me telling him. “Man, I just wanted to tell you….” I braced myself, thinking it would be yet another person thanking me for my service, or maybe saying how much they envied me the chance to fly to the stars, or sometimes complaining about getting us all involved in an interstellar war. “…how much I enjoy your TV show. United Stars is the best, dude!”
“Thanks.” I tried hard not to clench my teeth. “Appreciate it. I’m gonna listen to my music now, if you don’t mind. Had a rough week.”
Boston assaulted my ears once again and I brought up my cell phone, paying attention to its screen so I wouldn’t have to listen to anyone else. I brought up the web browser, figuring that I’d paid extra for the Wi-Fi, so I may as well use it.
I had, I discovered, somewhere in the neighborhood of four thousand unread emails and they were going to stay that way for now, even the ones from my agent. Especially the ones from my agent. I opened up a search window and considered whether I wanted to check the latest news about international relations. Things had cooled down some from when we’d flown the Jambo over every major nation to make it clear we could take any of them down if we wanted to, but only in the sense that no one was shooting at anyone for the time being. There was still a lot of screaming and shouting and finger-pointing. I didn’t really want to read about it.
Instead, I typed in a name. I don’t know why I hadn’t checked on him before. Maybe a guilty conscience, maybe a strong desire to put that night out of my memory forever.
Paulo Martijena. I hit enter.
I don’t know what I expect
ed. I know what I feared. I feared I’d find out he’d been killed in the war, or gone over to the Communists insurgents who had taken the place of the EPV after the war.
Instead, I found an article and a picture. He was around the same age as the Longhorn sitting across from me, though slimmer and darker. And he was also a student in an American college. The University of Miami. According to the article, he’d spent the last two years as a member of the Justice for Venezuela Foundation, an organization formed to lobby the US government and the International Criminal Court to prosecute what they considered to be war crimes by the Martijena regime and to protest for free elections in the country. Which still hadn’t happened due to frequent “unrest.” Good for Paulo.
His relationship with his father, according to the article, was “strained.”
Shit. Welcome to the club, Uncle Charlie.
***
Allie looked good for her age. Even the disapproving glare hadn’t changed after all these years.
“I didn’t expect to see you back after you dropped Zack off early from your visit,” she said, leaning against the door frame of what I could rightly describe as a mansion. My rental car looked incredibly out of place in the long, curved driveway.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” I said. “I was called up by the government to go out of…the Solar System.”
It felt weird saying it, weirder still that she didn’t even question it.
“I suppose,” she allowed, “that’s going to be the new normal, huh?”
“I’m afraid so. But I’d like to try to make it up to him if you’d let me.” I waved at the car. “I know it’s last minute, but it’s the weekend and I thought maybe I could at least like go get some dinner with him? Maybe take him to see a Longhorn game?”
Her frown softened and she arched an eyebrow.
