by C H Gideon
He sighed, “All right, all right…you win. You’re right. I’m not totally useless.”
“You’re God-damned right I’m right.” She nodded triumphantly. “Besides, as far as I’m concerned, Elvira’s not going anywhere without Lieutenant Andrew Podsednik aboard.”
He shook his head firmly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know that’s not going to happen any time soon. It takes six months minimum to get combat-ready with prosthetics, and a full year to grow, graft, and train into vat-grown legs. I’m down for the foreseeable, Captain,” he said, fixing her with a hard look, “but Elvira’s place is at the head of 2nd Company.”
She wanted to argue, but the truth was they both knew he was right. Arguing would only serve to threaten his clearly-shaky self-esteem.
“I just…” She hesitated, uncertain how to express her feelings even after weeks to think about what words to use. “I can’t imagine doing this without you, Podsy. You’re like a brother to me.”
Podsednik recoiled in mock alarm. “Wait, was that a legitimately tender moment that just whizzed past? Who are you, and what have you done with my Jock?”
“Podsy…” She glared at him, recalling Sergeant Major Trapper’s advice. “I’m trying to open up here.”
“I know, I know…” he said before he shifted awkwardly in his chair. “It’s just… Doc told me that you never left my side…”
She flushed with emotion before shaking her head firmly. “I hit the latrine a few times.”
He snickered. “And took a well-deserved break after I got lifted up to the Revere, from what I hear.”
She cocked her head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Rumors abound,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “regarding a certain mech Jock and sergeant major spending a little ‘quality time’ together from the privacy of her mech.”
Xi flushed with anger. “Nothing of the kind took place, and I’ll rip the balls off whoever started spreading those rumors!”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he chuckled.
“Look, nothing happened between Trapper and me…but if it had, at least my lays are still breathing when I notch them, Stumpy,” she snapped hotly, rounding on him angrily.
“Aaaand she’s back,” Podsy declared with perfect timing, disarming her on the spot.
After a brief pause, the two shared a deep laugh that echoed through the Bonhoeffer’s corridors. It was the Armor Corps’ lone combat-ready assault carrier, and they knew it would be their home for the foreseeable future.
But neither of them cared if they were aboard the Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Paul Revere, some rust-bucket intra-system garbage-scow-turned-freighter, or hunkered down in a soaking-wet foxhole.
All that mattered was that they were together and that they were going to do great things. They had found a place where they fit in, far from the halls of civilized society. And after surviving the nightmare that was Durgan’s Folly, they knew they would be able to deal with whatever the universe threw their way.
They were brothers (and sisters) in arms, and nobody, not the politicians back home, the bureaucrats which steered Fleet, or even the high-and-mighty Solarians could take that from them.
It was who they were, and realizing that fact filled her with a more profound sense of purpose and belonging than she had ever dreamed possible.
“It’s good to be home,” she said contentedly after the laughter had died down.
Podsy nodded. “It is indeed.”
Epilogue - Send in The Armor
“Colonel Jenkins,” General Akinouye greeted, “thank you for joining us.”
“Of course, General,” Jenkins acknowledged, removing his cap in accordance with protocol. His recruiting drive had been cut dangerously short by the urgent summons, and he was none too pleased about it. He had only filled thirty of his battalion’s forty-six Jock slots with qualified candidates prior to receiving the missive from Armor Corps brass. “What’s the situation, sir?” he asked, pushing those thoughts aside.
“We’ve just received word of a highly unusual situation unfolding in a nearby star system,” replied Major General Alice Chamberlain, the youngest of the Armor Corps’ remaining brass, at the vibrant age of eighty-nine. “Fleet is otherwise engaged securing our wormholes against Arh’Kel throughout the Republic, and the Marines are engaged on four Republic worlds where rock-biter crypto-colonies were discovered, though thankfully none as significant as the one you dealt with,” she added with the faint hint of a smirk, causing Jenkins to warily eye General Akinouye.
“One of the perks,” Akinouye said with a humorless chuckle, “of being the ranking member of the Joint Chiefs is that I get to play a little looser than most with classified information. I’ve briefed this room on the details of Durgan’s Folly, Colonel, because I think it’s important for everyone here to know the truth about the man whose hands currently hold the future of the Metal Legion.” Jenkins had come to know that Armor Corps brass referred to their branch of the TAF by the nickname ‘Metal Legion.’
Jenkins knew that Akinouye wouldn’t have told them about Durgan’s Folly without good reason, and he suspected it was to assuage their concern at having the ‘future of the Armor Corps’ in the hands of a recovering drunk and, as Captain Murdoch would say, a ‘loose cannon.’
“Understood, General.” He nodded to Akinouye before turning to Major General Chamberlain. “What’s the situation, ma’am?”
“It’s…unique in the history of the Republic, at least officially,” she replied hesitantly, as all around the semi-circular table heads bobbed up and down in agreement. “It seems that the Vorr have established some sort of archeological dig site on EO-5293, a frozen planetoid in orbit of a gas giant in the Naga System.”
“The Naga System?” Jenkins’ brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s Solar territory.”
“Correct,” a third Armor Corps general, named Pushkin, grunted in disdain.
“Under the Illumination League’s most recent ruling regarding human interests,” Major General Chamberlain explained, “the people of the Terran Republic are permitted to freely travel throughout human-designated territory, which includes star systems nominally assigned to Sol. As a result, certain forward-thinking Terran business interests have funded expeditions to star systems like Naga.”
Jenkins nodded, suspecting he already knew whose interstellar corporation was involved.
“The Solarians—” Pushkin leaned forward irritably. “—have all but holed up in Sol for the last half-century. Few go in, fewer come out, and as a result, the non-League worlds have taken certain liberties with human-designated resources and territory which, of a right, ought to belong to humanity.”
Jenkins was still confused, but he started to understand what they were saying. “The Vorr are unearthing something in Naga… How did the corporate interests in-system learn about the dig?”
“The Vorr told us they were doing it,” Akinouye replied. “Specifically, they told the Terran Republic through secret back-channels which, officially, have never existed. These back-channels, officially-speaking, do not involve your friend, Chairman Durgan of D.I.E.”
Jenkins nodded slowly. “Fleet can’t afford the black eye if they officially investigate and the situation goes pear-shaped.”
“It gets better.” Chamberlain smirked. “The Vorr aren’t the only non-human species in the Naga System.”
Jenkins bristled. “The Arh’Kel?”
Akinouye gave a throaty laugh. “No, son. The rock-biters wouldn’t have much interest in EO-5293.”
His laughter infected the rest of the room’s occupants, save Jenkins, who had no idea what was so funny.
“It is a species which the Vorr say they have previously encountered, but never successfully liaised with,” Chamberlain explained. “The species is apparently known to the League, but the Vorr asked us to keep their presence secret and, at this point, the Republic is inclined to honor that request.”
<
br /> Jenkins finally understood. “This is essentially a first contact situation with a species we know nothing about, and our introduction is being facilitated by the Vorr, a recently-departed member of the Illumination League, who in turn are conducting some sort of excavation on a planet nominally under Solarian control. Should Sol learn about any of this, they’d be less-than-pleased to have not been brought in the loop on either the dig or the unknown species’ presence. Whoever goes in there stands to alienate Sol, the League, the Vorr, and possibly even this unknown species if they cock it up, which is why Fleet’s letting it slip to us. If we make a hash of it, they get all the ammo they need to shove us and what’s left of the Metal Legion into a corner somewhere and run the clock out on us in the Armed Forced Committee when it comes time to dole out funding to the various branches. Am I missing anything?” Jenkins asked.
“Oh, she’s not done.” Akinouye smirked.
“Ma’am?” Jenkins asked in confusion, uncertain how it could get much more convoluted and dangerous than what he’d just outlined.
“Whoever goes to EO-5293,” Major General Chamberlain explained, “will be accompanied by the press.”
Akinouye snorted loudly. “Who, if the operation goes well, will be put under a gag order for national security reasons. But if things fall apart…”
“Will be ready to sink us with every image they bring back to the folks at home,” Pushkin grunted.
“You knew the thunder you were calling down from Fleet when you transferred here, Colonel Jenkins,” General Akinouye said matter-of-factly. “Well, you just saw the flash. As the commander of the only combat-ready battalion in the Terran Armor Corps, what do you think: do we pass on this, like any sane group of actors would?” He gestured to a data slate, presumably containing the mission’s details. “Or are you ready to fulfill those bold promises you made to us before we brought you aboard?”
Jenkins knew this was one of those turning points in his life that he would never forget. But unlike every other moment like it, this time, he knew with absolute conviction what he needed to do. This was his chance to prove his worth not just to the Armor Corps brass and the politicians back home, but to himself and the people who trusted him to lead them.
He met the eyes of everyone at the table before turning to General Akinouye and clarifying, “So the question, General Akinouye, appears to be: what do you do when every other branch of the Terran Armed Forces passes on a mission because of tactical and political unknowns? A mission which is to be carried out in a star system well beyond the line, with the press in tow to record every misstep and error so it can be used against you at your court-martial should you come up short. Is that an accurate breakdown, sir?”
“Yes, son.” Akinouye nodded gravely as all eyes scrutinized every centimeter of Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins’ body. “What do you do?”
As Lee Jenkins placed his cap back on his head, his lips curled into a confident grin. And the next words to pass his lips were spoken with greater conviction and certainty than any he had uttered in his entire life.
“Send in the armor.”
The End
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
October 28, 2018
You are still reading! Thank you so much. It doesn’t get much better than that.
I love this series! I can’t thank Caleb Wachter enough for doing the heavy lifting. I met him through Matthew Thrush and ours was a writing match made in heaven! Caleb brings the characters and the flow, an innate understanding of the characters, and how to keep the reader riveted. I bring the military experience and lingo to punch up the realism. I am blessed to have found someone with Caleb’s talent to bring these stories to life.
We ran this one through two editors and a dozen different readers to catch any misalignments or inconsistencies. I think everything is on track. For those military aficionados out there, I know an org chart would answer a lot of questions. Maybe we’ll publish one separately on my blog (which I don’t update anywhere near as often as I should). TO&E would be cool, too – a table of organization and equipment so you can see directly which mechs are in which platoons and companies. Roles & responsibilities. All that good stuff we took for granted while we served. My TO (table of organization) weapon was an M16 when I was a second lieutenant. The colonel told me to get my TO weapon for a field exercise. I show up to hop on the five-ton, and everyone else has pistols. “Martelle, what the hell are you doing with that? Where’s your pistol?” “Sir, my TO weapon is an M16,” I countered. “The pistol won’t get in anyone’s way, and if you have to fire your weapon, we’ve already lost. Next time, get the pistol.”
I just got off a podcast with Ramy Habeeb regarding our conference next year in Edinburgh. I’ll be there from July 25 through the 31st with 250 of my writer friends. We’re going to craft some great stories, do lots of Scottish stuff, and teach each other how to do better as self-published authors.
Changing gears back to today, it’s dark a solid eighteen hours out of the day, soon to be twenty. By the time you read this, it’ll be dark twenty hours out of the day. The sun will rise on the southern horizon, will barely get above it as it cruises along for a few hours, and then it’ll set in the south. In the summer, the sun makes a big circle in the northern sky, not setting at all. Sun rises in the east and sets in the west for people in the south and only a couple months in the spring and fall here.
Phyllis’ knees were bothering her so I had to take her to the vet for a new prescription of doggy ibuprofen. They have to do a blood test to make sure that nothing is going on as there is a remote chance that this medication will affect the kidneys. Phyllis has been taking a pill here and there for the last few years, so she’s way good. No side effects for her. BUT, she was a shade overweight, up six pounds from our previous visit, so now she’s on a diet, but it’s a good lifestyle change for her. We add a cup of water to one cup of dry dog food along with a little homemade bone broth and plenty of green beans for maximum fill with minimum calories. She’s lost at least three centimeters off her neck in less than two weeks. Good for Phyllis! She’s limping less, too. If she keeps trimming down, her knees will be quite happy.
What else am I working on? So many new books coming. About one a week in 2019 from military science fiction to dragons in space to a cozy mystery series that is already shaping up to be spectacular. Or maybe spooktacular since this series is called Monster Case Files. It’ll be all kinds of fun.
I have an epic fantasy trilogy coming, too. I hope you like that one, too – a journey of three sisters to save three kingdoms. Kill the kings, save the world.
No one goes on this journey alone. If it weren’t for being surrounded by great people and the incredible readers who keep picking up my books, none of these stories would be possible.
Peace, fellow humans.
Frozen Fire
Metal Legion Book One
Prologue: The Nexus
“Event horizon in three minutes,” the warship’s helmsman reported as the faintly wobbling, ring-shaped gate loomed before the kilometer-long Bonhoeffer. The gate was wide, a thousand meters across the inner margin of the metal structure. Terran scientists had concluded that the League’s gates pre-dated human civilization and, possibly, humanity itself.
The Dietrich Bonhoeffer followed a ballistic trajectory toward Jump Gate New America 2. Tension flowed like waves from a star gone supernova. The venerable assault carrier drew steadily nearer the gate that connected the Terran colonies through what the Illumination League called the Nexus.
“Gate handshake protocols established,” called the comm officer, and to Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jenkins’ eye, the gate seemed to briefly shimmer as ink-black ripples fluttered across its otherwise blank surface. The gate was large enough to fit a Terran dreadnought, which was nearly fifty times the volume of the Bonhoeffer. The dreadnoughts had been specifically designed to be as large as possible and still fit through the gates.
“Steady on,” acknowledged Co
lonel Li Yu, the ship’s hundred-year-old commanding officer.
The Bonhoeffer was the only ship commanded by a colonel. Non-Fleet personnel were only permitted to crew select warships deemed essential to a given branch’s ongoing operations. Terran Armor Corps once had its own fleet, but funding had been cut incrementally, and over time, only a single mighty warship remained under direct command of the armor branch.
Jenkins, standing at the back of the Bonhoeffer’s bridge, shuffled his feet nervously as the vessel crossed the one-minute-to-go mark.
This was not his first time passing through the Nexus, but only once before had he been present on the bridge at the moment of transit. He intended to savor the experience. The ship was at condition two, per standard gate-transit protocols, and that condition would persist at least until they reached their destination: the Naga System. The men and women of the Bonhoeffer’s crew were trained professionals, and operations proceeded fluidly despite the indisputable anxiety of the situation.
“Thirty seconds,” the helmsman reported mechanically.
“All hands, this is Colonel Li,” the ship’s CO announced over the intercom. “Prepare for gate transit in twenty seconds.”
Jenkins would have been lying if he tried to say he wasn’t nervous about passing through the gate. Approach velocity, angle, rotation, EM profile, and a dozen different measurements of the ship’s mass and displacement needed to be precisely balanced in order to successfully pass through an artificial wormhole. Failure to properly calibrate a gate-approach-vector had resulted in nine warships being destroyed during transit in Terran Republic history.
