Resurgence, Page 3

  “I hear you,” Krieger said. “I want to get home too, but we are the closest patrol to Oeskone, and HQ wants a recon done ASAP.” A large holographic image of the lush, green planet appeared above a projector platform near Krieger.

  Second Lieutenant Jerod Eastaway leaned toward the platoon sergeant who sat next to him and whispered, “You owe me some cash, Bubba.”

  Sergeant First Class Rick Sapp rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, sir, newbie.”

  “This may be my first tour of duty, but I called it,” Eastaway said. “My gut feeling about the meeting was right on. And now, I’m a little prouder and richer, and you’re a little less of a big shot and poorer.”

  “I kill you,” Sapp said, a cartoonish accent accompanying his words.

  “Now, if we can keep the comments from the peanut gallery to a minimum, I’ll give you all the details,” Krieger said, eyeing Sapp and Eastaway. The two soldiers offered the intelligence officer innocent expressions and each pointed at the other in blame for the disruption.

  Krieger returned to his briefing and said, “Oeskone is the planet farthest from Earth where colonization is taking place. It’s definitely on the edge of the frontier, placing it most firmly in the Outworlds.”

  “Captain Krieger, with all due respect, this is essentially Combine territory,” said the company commander, Captain Thomas Beach. “Why is headquarters sending REF resources so far from home when, really, the Combine will call us if they can’t handle problems out there?”

  “This mission is unique,” Krieger said. “And the Combine can take care of a good many problems on its own. But HQ requests our presence because of the potentially sensitive and significant nature of the situation.”

  “Sensitive and significant? All right, go ahead,” Beach said.

  Krieger nodded and said, “Oeskone is heavy on jungles and swamps, and because no adequate survey has been completed—even by the Combine—its resources are a big unknown….”

  Eastaway leaned toward Sapp and whispered, “Swampy jungles? Sounds like they’ve found your ass, Sergeant.”

  “Maybe Lieutenant Eastaway or Sergeant Sapp would care to enlighten us about their side conversation,” Krieger said.

  Wide-eyed, Sapp and Eastaway exchanged glances and then looked at Krieger. They shook their heads and offered simultaneous apologies.

  Krieger continued, “As I was saying. A small degree of raw intelligence reporting indicates a handful of colonists there may have stumbled upon some anomalous ruins suggesting an intelligent alien race once inhabited Oeskone.”

  Headquarters dispatching the 501st suddenly made more sense to most everyone in the briefing room. Although humanity had embarked on interstellar colonization almost three hundred years ago, one discovery had eluded them: The existence of other intelligent life.

  Humanity had, of course, discovered many different life forms from microbial ooze on up to giant furry beasts who couldn’t even comb their own hair—and just about everything in between—but nothing considered intelligent and civilized.

  The anomalous ruins on Oeskone might have just changed all of that.

  An unexpected chill squirmed its way up Eastaway’s spine and into his shoulders and neck. As his instincts shivered a response through his body, its deeper meaning eluded him for the moment, but the nascent warrior recognized his physical response meant something about Oeskone.

  “The implications of such a discovery are considerable,” Krieger said. “As such, REF command insists that we get in there now to figure out what exactly the colonists have stumbled upon.”

  “How reliable are the intel sources?” Eastaway said, genuinely interested, but also trying to curtail negative perceptions of his earlier behavior.

  “The reporting as it relates specifically to Oeskone appears to be singular in nature, and reliability is unclear,” Krieger said.

  “So, HQ is sending us all the way to Oeskone based on one untested source’s reporting about the possible discovery of alien ruins?” Captain Beach said, frustrated. “This is something that should wait for a fresh unit to handle. We should be going home.”

  Eastaway’s roommate, Lieutenant Coopark, sat next to the company commander. He nodded in agreement with his superior officer.

  “And yet, HQ ordered us for the recon mission,” Krieger said, reminding Beach and everyone else of their duties and obligations as military personnel. Continuing, he said, “Other highly classified but sketchy reporting from a handful of sources elsewhere in the Outworlds suggests the aliens who inhabited these ruins perished many thousands of years ago for unknown reasons. At least, that’s the information to which I have access. As usual, there is likely more information. But higher authority has decided we don’t need to know that to accomplish our mission.”

  “Which is?” Beach said.

  “Recon in the vicinity of Oeskone's human settlement and locate the reported anomalous ruins. If found, ascertain more information about the ruins, any artifacts, and the locals.”

  “Should we engage with the colonists?” Beach said.

  “Exercise extreme caution. HQ wants to keep our involvement and interest under wraps. Jurisdictional matters need to be… appreciated.” Chuckles erupted around the room. Krieger smiled, but after a moment he grew serious again. “Also, the colonists are a mixed bag of criminals and fringe science types, possibly a few hundred strong in all. They may be an extremist cult, but details are vague on that, too. Expect them to perceive you as the bad guys.”

  While frustrated sighs permeated the area, Krieger pulled up an image on the holographic projector of an elderly bearded man with beady, narrow black eyes. Silence filled the room while all present settled their gaze on the devilish figure who glowered back at them.

  Eastaway scrutinized the man’s face, memorizing his features and appearance sufficient to recognize the old man if he encountered him on Oeskone. The ominous face stared at him. The young lieutenant shook his head and averted his eyes.

  Continuing, Krieger said, “We assess with moderate confidence their de-facto leader is this individual, Abraham Harel. A genetic scientist, Harel disappeared into the Outworlds following his release from prison on Earth several years ago. His criminal convictions have ranged from fraud and theft of intellectual property, to a variety of weapons and explosives-related charges. But his most sinister deeds encompassed illegal experimentation in the field of resurrection biology involving humans and the DNA of extinct reptiles. If that isn’t creepy enough for you, he’s also very anti-government, and he can be very convincing and influential on the weak-minded. He’s also very vivacious despite his advanced age, and he had a growing following on Earth before authorities disrupted their extremist and criminal activities. Likely he’s exported and now continues his own version of wickedness on Oeskone.”

  Sergeant Sapp whispered out of the side of his mouth at Eastaway in the cartoonish accent again. “I kill him.”

  Eastaway nodded.

  Krieger paused and looked around the room at the soldiers’ faces. “Let’s knock this one out and get back home. Celebrating the coming holidays with our families and friends is something we all deserve to do.”

  <> <>

  Inside the ship’s command center, Captain Beach and the infantry company’s four platoon leaders planned the details of the Oeskone operation. They agreed a platoon-sized advance team should make a high-altitude, low-opening (HALO) infiltration under cover of darkness from one of the Slipstream’s dropships.

  “The swamps and jungles make this type of entry particularly dangerous,” Beach said. “But we need to keep things as stealthy as possible until we can understand the situation and colonists better. We can also defoliate a stable patch before the drop.”

  “Good plan, sir,” Lieutenant Coopark said.

  Eastaway clenched his teeth. He wearied of Coopark’s bootlicking, but also he hoped Beach would select one of the other platoon leaders for this part of the mission. Although he had performed satisfactor
ily during his first six-month deployment, the twenty-three-year-old officer felt unqualified to lead an advance team into Oeskone—or anywhere, for that matter. Any prudent superior would ensure a properly experienced officer led that aspect of the mission.

  Beach looked around the table at his four subordinate officers, of whom Eastaway was the least experienced.

  “Good plan, Boss,” Coopark said again.

  Only one of the lieutenants averted his eyes when the captain’s gaze fell upon him.

  “Looks like we have a volunteer,” Beach said. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Eastaway; you’ll lead the advance team with your platoon.”

  “Uh, thank you, sir.”

  “Advise your platoon and hit the firing range. When we arrive at Oeskone in two days, I want you ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir. The platoon will be ready.” But I don’t know about me. Eastaway cleared his throat and said, “May I have a word with you, sir?”

  “Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Beach said.

  Coopark smirked.

  A sudden heatwave sensation roiled up from Eastaway’s chest into his neck and face. He could feel a layer of sweat forming on his forehead. “Uh, maybe if we could step aside, sir?”

  “If you have a question about the mission,” Beach said, “best we discuss as a group. Collaboration is the key to our success.”

  Coopark mouthed the words “Momma’s boy.”

  Eastaway tightened his sweaty hands into fists. “Uh….”

  “We’re all waiting, Lieutenant,” Captain Beach said.

  His voice shaking, Eastaway said, “Should we, uh, bring extra DOGs with us?”

  Coopark shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “The dedicated operational guards tend toward noisiness,” Beach said. “Although they offer superior firepower in a compact unit, I would leave them behind. What do you others think?”

  “Good idea, Boss,” Coopark said, above everyone else. “Maintaining stealth at all times is critical to the success of the advance team in this type of mission profile. That’s in the manual.”

  “Then it’s settled, no DOGs,” Beach said. “Any other questions, Mr. Eastaway?”

  Coopark smirked.

  Eastaway cleared his constricted throat again. “No, sir.”

  <> <>

  While on his way to the NCO barracks to retrieve SFC Sapp, Eastaway found himself hesitating in front of the ship’s semi-deserted interfaith chapel. Not formally religious, but holding just enough faith in God, he felt compelled to seek the comfort of the sanctuary.

  But as he gazed at the cross hanging above the chapel’s entrance, Eastaway’s uncertainty vacillated his next steps. It wasn’t until he heard the unmistakable laugh and voice of his roommate, Tom Coopark, and saw his approach amidst a group of his cronies, that Eastaway made his decision.

  After crossing the threshold into the chapel, he saw a handful of soldiers and Slipstream crewmembers emerge into view beneath the dim lighting. Scattered around the room, they prayed or sat in quiet reflection on old-fashioned wooden bench pews.

  Eastaway recognized one of the soldiers as Specialist Elias Fisher, an electronic surveillance and reconnaissance (ESR) operator from his platoon. Fisher’s attention swung in Eastaway’s direction. The lieutenant’s subordinate nodded and motioned for him to join him on the front bench.

  After initial stalled steps, Eastaway walked by the Mother and Christ child statue on the front altar and settled onto a bench behind Fisher.

  The young soldier turned and said, “Pleasure to see you here, sir.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “No interruption; the fellowship is good. I grew up attending church. My wife did, too. How about you?”

  Eastaway glimpsed the Mother and Christ child statue again. “Uh, I did up to a point, but then my—” The tightness in his chest and lump in his throat halted his words. His eyes met Fisher’s searching gaze. “My dad wasn’t big on religion, so I just didn’t attend much after a certain age.”

  Fisher offered a heavy nod. “I find that during tough times, I pray and attend service more often. With respect, maybe you just need a little more spiritual help now than usual, sir.”

  Thinking about his responsibilities as the advance team’s commander, Eastaway said, “Maybe we all need a little more of that right now.”

  “My wife appreciates that I attend service while on deployments. It reassures her that God will protect me. We have a newborn son I haven’t seen yet.” Fisher grinned and held up a datacom image of “Joshua.”

  “Handsome fellow,” Eastaway said, smiling. “Must get his looks from his mom.”

  Fisher laughed. “He’s our first child. Can’t wait to see and hold him. And yes, Anna is beautiful.” The next image Fisher displayed was of his wife holding their son soon after giving birth. “Even after nearly twenty-four hours of labor, and look at her…. She sparkles.”

  Despite the swelling ache in his chest, Eastaway allowed himself to appreciate the humble innocence and beauty in the image. “You have a magnificent family.”

  “I live for them.” Fisher stared at the image, tears welling up in his eyes. He turned around and bowed his head.

  Eastaway reclined and relaxed as best he could on the hard bench. He noticed a small gold plaque on the back of the bench in front of him. Leaning forward, he read the plaque’s engraving, which was Psalms 23:4: Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. The words of courage drew him in, and he stared at them, rereading them several times.

  His thoughts eventually drifted to the mission expectations placed on him, so he peered left to right, lowered his head, and closed his eyes…

  It’s been a long time, I know. Since Mom at least…

  Ten years old, Jerod bears witness through swollen eyes as two male strangers viciously rape and beat his mother in their home. He should be at school, but illness brings him home early. Bound and bloodied himself, young Jerod can’t do anything to save his mom. One of the men wields a combat knife. He raises it over his head, and thrusts it downward at Jerod's screaming mother…

  Eastaway’s head shuddered and his eyes jerked open. He breathed a heavy sigh, calming himself, and then he prayed again…

  …I speak to you now for my soldiers, God. I have a bad feeling about this mission, and I don't believe I am the right choice to lead the advance team. Please watch over my soldiers and keep them safe. They are the best and deserve your protection. In Jesus’ name, please. Amen.

  The young lieutenant raised his head. He flicked away moisture from the corners of his eyes with his fingertips. Looking around the chapel again, he spotted Fisher still deep in prayer. Eastaway stood and traveled a path toward the exit that avoided passing by the Mother and Christ child statue.

  Once inside the overcrowded NCO barracks, Eastaway located SFC Sapp napping on his side. He pulled up a stool from a nearby table and sat down next to his platoon sergeant’s head. After wetting his index finger with his tongue, Eastaway wiggled it into Sapp’s exposed ear.

  Awakening, Sapp slapped away his superior’s hand, saying, “You are the most unprofessional officer I know.” He wiped his ear and rolled onto his back.

  “Really? Have you met Tom Coopark?”

  “That shitbird’s never stuck a wet member in me while I slept. I kill you.”

  Eastaway sniffed the air, scowled, and said, “Man, it really stinks in here.”

  “It’s from all those other fuckers, not me,” Sapp said, thrusting a thumb toward nearby NCOs.

  “You up for a run?”

  Sapp glowered at Eastaway. “I still have many unresolved issues. So yeah, I’ll run.”

  <> <>

  At the gym, Sapp jogged on a treadmill while Eastaway ascended a nearby rope. Although suspended only a few meters above the floor for safety reasons, the rope’s automated system allowed for simulated climbs as high as its users
dared imagine.

  When he finished his climb, Eastaway trotted up next to Sapp and started running on an adjacent treadmill.

  “How high this time?” Sapp said, feigning interest.

  “Only thirty meters.”

  “What a wuss.”

  “Just a warm-up. Could have gone higher,” Eastaway said, an amusing smugness accompanying his words.

  “Uh-huh.”

  At two meters tall, Sapp towered over the lieutenant. Although Eastaway carried a solid, muscular build, Sapp also stood much broader in the shoulders and chest than he did. Sapp far surpassed the height and build of most of the soldiers in the unit, except for their company commander, the bald bull Captain Beach. Eastaway was relieved his platoon sergeant seemed to be on his side most of the time.

  The gym’s location offered a panoramic outside view. Currently, the Slipstream traveled on its faster-than-light (FTL) drive, sending a steady hum throughout the ship. While operating on FTL, the stellar view coalesced and blurred all around the ship.

  Looking up at Sapp, Eastaway said, “If you use your imagination, it looks like we’re running at light speed.”

  “They made you an officer?”

  “Just trying to keep things light.”

  “Oeskone got you down?”

  “Advance team selection. Nighttime HALO infiltration into swampy jungle. Newbie lieutenant leading the way into the unknown.”

  “Better than hauling freight or contraband for your deadbeat dad, or your brothers—”

  “Half-brothers.”

  “Or your half-brothers kicking your ass all the time.”

  “Or locked up and rotting in prison.”

  “That bad guy got what he deserved. The whole matter was justifiable homicide.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “And yet, here we both are.”

  A long silence followed, giving Eastaway time to notice the high levels on Sapp’s treadmill. “You run a lot, don’t you?”