The Soldier Page 11

  Matt continued to keep his eyes straight ahead, noting Tapscott’s sudden shift in tone. He suspected he may have been trying to get a reaction from him, so he remained a featureless mask; not giving anything while absorbing everything. If this was a test of some sort, he was determined to pass it.

  “Regardless, I don’t need to explain to you how god-awful this conflict is. Yes, you’ve had a little taste already, but you need to prepare yourself for what’s really out there. Back home, before the invasion, I served in both Tajikistan and the South China sea, and let me assure you, there’s no winning hearts and minds here. There’s no diplomacy. There’s no backchannels or cease-fire agreements. Our sole objective here is a lot simpler: win this war by any means necessary. And to do that, we must eradicate the enemy off the face of this planet. That’s it. Nice and simple. How do you feel about that, private?”

  “I feel like it’s a wonderful objective, sir. I’m honored to be a part of it.”

  Right answer. Tapscott cracked the tiniest of grins. “Despite the clusterfuck this conflict is turning into, there’s still plenty of good folk like yourself answering the call. For now, anyway. Unfortunately, that also brings a lot of soft-skinned individuals into the fray. So when a soldier makes an impression this early into their tour, we tend to take notice. Congratulations, Private Reeves.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m not exactly sure what you’ve been told on the trip out here, but contrary to popular opinion, I believe this war will not be won from air or space. It will be won with boots on the ground. It will be won with infantries who are led by commanders who can think outside the box and take initiative - both in combat ops and intel gathering. That’s why the USC has Alpha Corps. That’s why Alpha Corps has Praetorians. And that’s why Praetorians get to wield the biggest stick on the block.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tapscott repositioned himself closer to Matt, his eyes hardening. “But for all their bells and whistles, even Praetorians are not invincible.” In saying that, Tapscott looked to be visibly pained. It was obvious he did not enjoy saying those words, no matter how true they were. “We lost ten Praetorians yesterday after two of our surveillance birds were shot down in an area known as Hachins Pass. The Wraith call it, Qir’eds Nel’uth; the empty place. We have a small outpost located there that is home to a British ASIF Company. Camp Suffield may be small in comparison to other USC bases, but it is considered a strategic linchpin for that region. It’s a vital cog in this war. But, like anything, there’s always two sides to a coin. The deeper we push across this front towards the Capitol, the longer our supply lines become. Those Praetorians were flying there to assist that base with some much-needed supplies, as it had come under attack the previous night from the enemy. When their surveillance birds were shot down, they were flying blind. We don’t know what happened to them, but we assume they were KIA as they never reached the base - which is now on the brink of being overrun. We’re still maintaining a limited comms window with them, and they did barely manage to fend off the last attack, but they are almost depleted. They desperately need our help.”

  Matt watched as Tapscott looked down at the ground as if curating his next words carefully. He was sensing this next part was going to be the business-end of the conversation.

  “We have another Praetorian unit here that has been working on an updated relief op. Seeing as we can no longer approach the outpost by air, they have decided to go old school: rubber and asphalt. Now, there are no roads in this region – at least in the sense that we know. However, there are veins of sulfur despots that stretch across the entire planet. Thousands of them, hardened by centuries of sun exposure and flattened by magnetic fields, making them as good as any stretch of desert road back home. We intend to use them.”

  Matt met the Colonel’s gaze, still not entirely sure where this was all leading to.

  “I want you on that team, private,” Tapscott said as if reading Matt’s uncertainty. “You are going to assist those men and women. You are going to help them carry out their objective. These Praetorians would never admit it, but if this mission is going to work, they need soldiers who can perhaps see something they cannot. An outsider. With the exception of your atmo-drop, I understand you have had limited combat experience in the field, so you will merely be there as a support element. It’s unlikely they’ll thank you for it, but I believe each new day in this war must begin on equal footing. We are all fighting on the same ground.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will be shadowing a supply convoy through an area we lovingly refer to as the Gore Barrel. Once you reach Maruka Ridge, you will pivot northeast and head towards Hachins Pass. There will be four vehicles in total: two supply trucks hauling water, food, medical equipment, and ammo, along with two TAVs. Each armored vehicle will carry a five-man squad. However, the two truck drivers are civilian contractors, so you will have limited interaction with them. Is that understood, private?”

  Matt snapped to attention again. “Yes, sir.”

  “Corporal Ong will escort you over to Tactical-Ops Command at 0.400 tomorrow. From there, you will report to Captain Todd Mace in the assembly area for a complete go-no-go briefing. I can assure you, after losing some of their brothers and sisters on that previous op, these Praetorians are madder than a cut snake. They want their pound of flesh, but first, you’re going to help them get to that base.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are dismissed, private.”

  Matt saluted the Colonel. “Thank you, sir. And thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

  “Good luck, son.” Tapscott watched with almost pitiful eyes as Matt turned and headed off down the ramp. While he needed a million more soldiers just like Matt, the greenie had no idea what he was in for. Most soldiers who entered the furnace of this war rarely did.

  Twelve

  After getting dropped back to his barracks by Corporal Ong, Matt stepped into his rowdy dorm to see Wilson and Maynard laughing as they held Lee down on his cot, grappling with his ankles. The fatigues of his left leg had been rolled up to his knee.

  Chicano rock music blasted from Lopez’s digital speakers as she sat on the edge of the cot, using a portable propane torch to heat three, wire coat hangers that had been bent into the letters USC.

  Maynard was wearing a sports bra, and Wilson was shirtless, his entire torso covered in a giant tattoo that looked like a circuit board. It suggested, prior to this, the two of them had been doing a little more than letting off steam.

  Matt threw a baffled look to Davis. “The hell’s all this?”

  Davis was sitting on his cot reading an old spy-thriller paperback. “Don’t look at me, kid. Wasn’t my idea,” he said without looking up.

  “Hey, Davis,” yelled Wilson. “You find out if the Cowboys won?”

  “How the fuck could I?”

  “I thought you were gonna buy a pirated feed off those Arab twins.”

  “I was, but I found out the game was nearly a year old. They still wanted a hundred creds for the streaming link, so I told them to go shove it.”

  Still pinning Lee down with one arm, Wilson reached over and swiped the small tablet device next to Lee’s cot. He then tapped the screen and a large holographic photo appeared in front of Matt. It was a guy dressed in combat fatigues back on Earth, wielding two semi-auto rifles at a shooting range. He appeared to be mid-twenties and quite possibly had the worst haircut Matt had ever seen in his life. “Have a guess who that is,” he said to Matt.

  “No idea, but that’s a nasty haircut.”

  Wilson chuckled and pointed to Davis.

  Matt spun to Davis, unsure if it was really him. “How old were you there?”

  “Twenty-seven. And for your information, that haircut is known as a Texan Combat Mullet, my friend. Business in the front, party in the back.”

  Matt laughed as he shifted his attention back to the weird Jarhead initiation rite Lee was suffering through.

 
“Now, this is gonna sting like a bitch, Lee,” Lopez said as she inspected the hangars that were now red-hot. “You good?”

  “Yeah, do it,” Lee replied with gritted teeth, his head buried into his pillow.

  Lopez shoved the glowing three-letter contraption against Lee’s outer calf. There was a low hiss as his skin began to smolder. Lee bit his fist and wailed with pain, tears streaming from his closed eyes.

  Wilson leaned into Lee’s ear and whispered. “Ouchtown, bro. Population: you.”

  After a few seconds, Lopez pulled the brand away to inspect her handy work “You’re done. Nice and clean. OK, who’s next? Maynard, heat it up, babe.”

  “Heard you got reassigned,” Davis said while calmly turning the page of his book.

  Matt tried to hide his surprise as he crossed the dorm to his cot, not realizing how fast news could travel around here. “Yeah, I head out tomorrow.”

  “Doing what?” Wilson clearly sounded like he was probing for intel.

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to say,” Matt replied, knowing where this was likely headed.

  Davis calmly closed his book and looked up at Matt. “Why not?”

  “Just don’t think I’m able to.” Matt slid onto his cot, making a point to appear unmoved by the ominous tone this inquisition was taking.

  “Too good for us now, huh?” Maynard said while heating the coat hangers. She stood there, waving the flame back-and-forth, purposely making her movement more animated in front of Matt. “Think you’re some type of meat-eater now, Reeves?”

  Matt deflected Maynard’s remarks with a scoff. “OK… if you say so, Maynard.”

  Lopez finished taping Lee’s calf with gauze. She then rose and moved over to Matt’s cot. “Oh, so it’s like that now?”

  When Matt saw Maynard pass the coat hangers and propane can to Lee, he pressed his back against the wall of his cot and crossed his legs. “Like what, Lopez?” He kept his eyes on Lee as he took over and began heating the coat hangers to an orange glow. “The hell have you all been drinking in here today?”

  Now Davis hopped up from his cot to join Lopez and Wilson - who had both gathered around Matt and were looming over him threateningly. “We heard you were with Colonel Tapscott today.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  Lopez snickered. “So, what were you doing over at Alpha Corps? Were you guys all playing just the tip?”

  Matt was done with this. “You got something you wanna say to me, Lopez?”

  “Oh, we’ve got something to say alright,” laughed Wilson, his eyes flicking to the others.

  “And that is?” Matt replied, tensing his fists into a ball.

  “Jump his ass!” Wilson yelled as Lopez, Davis, and Maynard piled on top of Matt, yelling and laughing. Matt fought back, grabbing Maynard and tossing her aside while simultaneously kicking Davis in the hip. He went flying back, nearly plowing into Lee, who was approaching with the freshly heated brand.

  Matt elbowed Lopez square in the chest, but she deflected it and pounced, throwing him into a playful choke. “What do you say Reeves, how about a little barbeque in your honor?”

  “I swear— you touch me Lopez, and I’ll forget you are a girl!”

  “That’s your first mistake, Reeves. You assume me being one is gonna make any difference.”

  Maynard cackled as she helped Davis and Wilson pin Matt’s thrashing legs down, finally getting him under control. “You need to quit squirming,” she said. “Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to duct-tape your ankles.”

  “Just think of it as a little going-away present. Something to remember us by,” laughed Davis. “We’re all family now, and under USC tradition, one can only get the brand if earned.” He looked up at Lee, standing there holding the glowing coat hangers. “Do it, kid.”

  Lee saw Matt staring at him like a hunted animal that had just been trapped. He hesitated his advance. “It only hurts a second, Matt.”

  Matt began struggling again as the red-hot brand approached his bare calf. Realizing he was never going to get them off him until it was done, he looked up at Lee. “You better make it quick, otherwise when I get out of this, your head is going through that wall.”

  Lee did his best to make it quick, but that did not lessen Matt’s scream.

  Thirteen

  Later that night, after Matt had assisted in the branding of Maynard and Davis, he lay in bed, unable to sleep.

  While rambling about the importance of his brand, and what it meant in terms of an unofficial USC tradition, Lopez had dabbed some disinfectant cream on his wound before covering it with a patch of spray-on gauze. He had also swallowed a handful of aspirin to help with the pain, but that did not seem to help his insomnia.

  He stared at the ceiling for what felt like several hours, his mind restless and troubled as he tried to block out Davis’s terrible snoring. Tomorrow was going to prove whether he had what it took to play in the big boy’s sandbox. Would he become a true soldier in this war or just another casualty?

  As his eyes began slowly close, and sleep’s warm embrace finally washed over him, the alarm on his watch started buzzing silently against his wrist.

  Time to wake up. War never sleeps.

  Fourteen

  After brushing his teeth and swallowing two more aspirin, Matt received a message on his forearm console ordering him to be outside his dorm in ten minutes. He would eat breakfast over at the Tac-Ops facility with his new teammates before getting briefed up.

  Before quietly exiting the dorm with his gear, Matt gave his fellow greenies a final look. None of them had woken yet. The only one to stir a little was Wilson who was half-dangling out of his cot. Despite a rocky start, a bond had been forged between them. Last night’s branding ritual was confirmation of that. These guys were now the closest thing he had to family out here.

  The base’s LED high-masts and perimeter lamps were still on as Matt made his way out to the front of his barracks. Epsilon’s fierce sun was still a few hours away from rising, but the sky was already a dull ruddy color, and the air was starting to humidify. Matt could feel the thermal cooling layers in his uniform starting to react.

  All seemed quiet at this ungodly hour, with the only notable activity coming from the Japanese side of the base. A lone soldier played their National anthem, the Kimigayo, on a brass trumpet underneath the Japanese USC flag. He could see troops gathering outside their barracks to exercise and meditate.

  Matt thought the anthem’s somber tone was quite fitting as it softly wafted over the base. It signaled a new day in an old war.

  The ride over to Tactical-Ops Command was mostly long stretches of silence, interrupted by the odd prosaic remark from Matt.

  Corporal Ong was not the friendliest superior Matt had come across here, and he understood why. It was not Ong’s job to make friends with greenies he would most likely never see again. Ong’s orders were to simply take Matt where he needed to go. That was it.

  As Matt began to think about the day ahead, he noticed his right hand was shaking from nerves. He started rubbing it, casually glancing at Ong to see if he had noticed. Even if he had, he most likely did not care.

  In the distance, Matt watched a small unit of Danish troops jogging in loose formation along their fence line. Some of the men were shirtless, their chests, arms, necks, and faces covered in animated tattoos from Norse mythology. Fearsome Gods and Vikings glowed in the pre-dawn light as they swung their giant battle-axes and swords, undulating over sweat-slicked muscles. Some of these tattoos were purely designed to strike fear into those who observed them. Others told stories, depicting epic battles that had been rooted in a mix of history and folklore.

  Matt and Corporal Ong came to a guarded checkpoint. Beyond it was a featureless prefab structure, reinforced with layers of concrete and steel. Behind it was a series of modulated tents, connected by what appeared to be sealed airlocks.

  This checkpoint was like the one they passed yesterday, only it was way more fortified. The warn
ing signs made no qualms about the rows of shrapnel-spitter mines that were buried underneath them, as well as the sentry turrets brazenly positioned overhead - their slated muzzles aimed directly at the vehicle.

  The row of steel bollards blocking their path also housed automatic turrets that could fire thousands of rounds per second. Any attempt to bum-rush this checkpoint or attack it with force would be over in seconds.

  Three of the guards were also encased in giant mechanized exoskeletons, wielding heavy Gauss cannons that looked like Jackhammers. Each guard looked almost comically huge.

  Matt could feel the ground underneath the vehicle shuddering as one of them thudded towards them, pressurized gas hissing from metal joints. Matt made a point to not maintain eye contact as the guard glared suspiciously at him on approach. He figured they were probably confused as to what business a greenie, fresh from his atmo-drop, could possibly have here.

  After scrutinizing Ong’s ID card with a barrage of questions, the bollards disappeared into the concrete driveway. They were then waved through a series of large boom gates.

  The protocols into this facility only added to Matt’s nervousness, knowing he was entering what was most likely the most sensitive area of the entire base. This was the operational nerve center that all other bases in this hemisphere fed into.