Peace World, Page 2

These thoughts were running through Grant's head when the closeness of the trail suddenly opened up to a narrow gorge on their right. Breaking out of the jungle into sunshine was a shock, but Lyons did not slow down. He continued along the path at full speed.

  Grant took in the small stream running east to west a hundred feet below the trail on his right. He also recognized that the jungle rose up sharply on the left side of the trail.

  Jungle rising up on the left.

  Drop off to the stream on the right.

  Firefight a hundred meters ahead.

  His team had either surprised the enemy or walked into an ambush. Either way, the enemy had the high ground and the advantage of cover.

  Damn.

  "Lyons!" Grant slowed to a walk.

  Lyons kept running.

  Grant was tempted to follow his teammate but his instincts told him to wait, assess, and then act.

  More than anything else, he wanted to enter the jungle on his left and move up, toward the attackers. Proceeding along the path toward the firefight did not offer any advantage besides adding another weapon against the ambush. And while that option was not without benefit, it did not seem to offer the best odds of eventual success.

  At least, not to Grant.

  After an agonizing few seconds, he made his decision.

  He sprinted along the path for another twenty meters, dropped his rucksack, then cut sharply to the left. The jungle was not as thick on the hillside as it had been next to the trail behind them, but Grant still struggled to break through the vines and plants.

  As he fought the growth, he ran through a mental inventory of his weapons and ammunition. He carried six magazines, in addition to the one already loaded into his M-26, for a total of two-hundred and eighty rounds. The newly issued Mission Master sidearm he carried held fifteen rounds. With luck, he would not need it, since that would mean he was out of ammunition for the M-26.

  Besides the two guns, he carried a ten-inch battle knife, three stun grenades, and three of the newly manufactured sleep-agent grenades. The stun and sleep grenades were the Army's way of compromising with the doves that seemed to be cropping up in every country. They incapacitated the enemy without killing or leaving long-term damage. The grenades did not exactly jive with the very lethal M-26 or the deadly Mission Master, but Grant carried what he was told to carry.

  It took Grant five minutes to crest the top of the hill. At the top, he found another trail. This one was slightly larger than the one they had been following and appeared to be more heavily used.

  Grant turned right and loped cautiously toward the firefight. The two sides seemed to have reached an impasse, with each side firing only every few seconds. This fact, while good for the team in the short-term, favored the enemy in the long term. They could receive reinforcements at any time. Sergeant Coleman would have to radio for support and then wait for it to arrive.

  If he was still capable.

  The firing from the enemy was coming from beneath Grant now, which meant the ambushers were between him and the rest of the team. The idea of being shot by his own side went through his head. It was just as quickly dismissed. He would do whatever he needed to do to help his team.

  Grant followed his ears and his instincts. Although he was above the enemy, the sound of the firing indicated they were placed along a ten-meter line in the jungle below. He knew they could not be too far above the path where his team was pinned because of the lack of visibility. He elected to begin on the left side of the line.

  As quickly as he could, he made his way back down the slope. Although the growth still hindered his movement to some degree, trekking down the hill was much quicker than the trek up. Within two minutes, he saw the first of the enemy soldiers.

  From his view above, he could see several of them lying prone, their weapons trained on the path twenty meters beneath them.

  He also spied three of his own team lying motionless on the path. One was Lyons. One was the lieutenant. He could not quite make out the third.

  Grant had a new decision to make. He could use stealth and try to take the ambushers out one at a time, or he could pick off the ones he could see and hope for the best. With luck, he could take out half the enemy before the rest could turn their weapons back on him.

  Grant took out his battle knife, moved left.

  The first three never heard him coming.

  The fourth man must have realized something was up when the firing from his left stopped and did not start back up. He looked around just as Grant was stepping from behind a tree, his knife ready for the strike.

  "¡A la chingada!" He called out as Grant rushed forward, hoping to close the distance between them before the enemy soldier could swing his weapon around.

  He almost made it.

  * * *

  "I woke as they were dumping me into a helicopter." The crowd inside the mess hall had grown to forty or fifty. All were focused on the story Grant told. "I had three bullet holes in my left arm. Another bullet lodged in my left leg, and another in my chest."

  "Whoa. How did the team escape?" Conway asked.

  "According to Sergeant Burns, they saw me take out the fourth soldier, and then—"

  "I thought he shot you."

  "He did shoot me, Conway. But apparently I got him just a little bit better than he got me," Grant explained. "Anyway, that was enough to turn the tide of the fight. Burns led the rest of the team up the hill.

  "The mission was blown at that point, so he called in a pickup and we got out of there. Of the ten of us, three died and three were wounded."

  One of the fighter pilots in the room raised a hand. Grant pointed at him.

  "General, you said that nations rarely fight other nations," he reminded Grant. "What did you mean?"

  "Ah, yes. That was the point of the story, wasn't it?"

  He received several nods in return.

  "Here's what I mean," he began.

  "When we got back to our base, the doctors patched me up. Made sure I wasn't going to die. Then gave me thirty days of leave while I healed."

  Grant paused to collect his thoughts. This was an important message, and they needed to hear it and understand it in the event they made it back to Earth.

  "My country had been at war for three years when I got sent back. Three of my team members had just been killed. I was in a wheelchair.

  "I don't know what I was expecting to see when I got off the plane. I wasn't expecting bands to be playing, or crowds of people welcoming me home." Grant shook his head. Tried to convey his sense of confusion at the time. "None of that. But what I found was… surprising, I guess.

  "No one I met that day, or for the entire thirty-day leave, ever discussed the war. Most people I met never gave it any thought at all—it was almost like it didn't really exist. It was a news story in the paper or on the television. It was something that happened to other people, in another place. Definitely no one knew that three of my team—three of my family—had been killed in a far-away country. Except for the families of the soldiers, and the soldiers who lived through it, no one else seemed to care.

  "That's what I mean," Grant said. "With few exceptions, the country as a whole was rarely engaged. For most, it was nothing more than a mild distraction."

  Grant paused while the message settled, then drove home the point he needed to make.

  "If we make it back to Earth, it will be the same for each of you," he explained. "You will know what it was like to fight on a foreign planet. But those who aren't here fighting with you? They will know that you were here. They will know that you put your life on the line for them and that some of you sacrificed your lives. There's no way they cannot know that.

  "But they won't know what you know. They won't know the soldier standing next to you didn't make it home. They won't know what that means to you. They won't know how it has scarred you or how it will affect you for the rest of your lives.

  "To most of them, it will just be a distraction."


  CHAPTER 1

  Four days.

  That's how long it took for Grant and his forces to pack up the mothership and be on their way. They had defeated the Minith on the planet and it was time to move on to the next mission. Telgora's winds, the frigid cold of the northern hemisphere, and the languid movements of the Telgorans themselves slowed the process to a crawl. Grant had expected the wind and the cold. He had not expected to be bombarded with demands from the locals.

  He had certainly not expected to agree to the demand that fifty of their best dindin fighters on Telgora be allowed to join them. But when Patahbay, the top fighter and informal leader of the Telgorans, learned that they were headed to the planet Waa, he had insisted—and Grant knew that when a Telgoran insisted, nothing short of war would change their mind.

  Titan, the former leader of Violent's Prison and the man responsible for the destruction of the Minith home world, argued that the tall, thin beings would make a unique addition to their forces. Grant knew the man had become attached to the aliens—being stranded for five years on their planet had ensured that—but the giant ex-violent had a point, and his view helped sway Grant. The Telgorans' persistence and ability to fight, coupled with his desire to retain them as allies of Earth, had caused him to relent.

  Unfortunately, his agreeing also meant delaying their departure as Patahbay and his people farmed and loaded enough tatal to keep themselves fed for several months.

  While the Telgorans loaded their supplies, the humans on the ship re-shuffled living quarters to make room for the newcomers. The soldiers affected by the moves grumbled and complained.

  Some things never change, regardless of the century, Grant thought as he made his way to the command center.

  Final preparations for leaving Telgora were underway at last. They would be space-born within the hour.

  As expected, Gee was sitting at his adopted workstation when Grant entered the heart of the vessel. Gee was a one-man force of nature. In addition to his duties of chief engineer and loadmaster, he single-handedly controlled the ship's engine, guidance, and other systems. Without him, they would be stuck on the ground indefinitely. Grant made a mental note to have the engineer begin training one of the soldiers or pilots on how the craft operated; wondered why he had not thought to do that before. One of the fighter pilots would be a likely choice.

  "Are we set, Gee?" Grant asked, taking his seat in front of the monitors. They showed live feeds of the snowy-white exterior and the loading bay where the bulk of their fighting power was stored.

  "Just about. How are our passengers doing?"

  "Just peachy. Titan is in the mess hall eating the last of the fruit, the Telgorans are saying their goodbyes to the Family, and the troops are all complaining. In a nutshell—everything is as perfect as it can be."

  Gee offered a blank stare and a single, "Okay."

  "Trust me, it doesn't get any better than this. Now, when are we getting off this rock?"

  The engineer gnawed a thumbnail and stared at the controls and the monitor. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he pushed a button on the console and the mothership hummed to life.

  "Hell, Gee, if all you have to do is push a button, we should've been outta here hours ago."

  Without taking his eyes away from the monitor, Gee lifted his right hand and extended his middle finger.

  "Ha!" Grant laughed. "Where the heck did you learn that?"

  "I have my sources," Gee grinned. Grant knew the source had to be Mouse. He had not shared that tidbit of history with anyone else—for a reason.

  "Really? Do you know what it means?"

  Gee's grin faltered. "Um. I was told it meant 'stop bothering me.' Is that even close?"

  "Well, that's one meaning. It has about a hundred others I won't go into," Grant explained. "Suffice to say that not all of them were good. Or respectful."

  "Ah. I see."

  It always amused him when one of his twenty-first century mannerisms or figures of speech found its way into twenty-seventh century society. This one—perhaps not so much. There were some things that should stay buried, and giving someone the finger was one of those things, in Grant's opinion.

  He had no one to blame but himself.

  Shifting gears, he settled back and watched the ship lift off from the planet. With the exception of the relatively minor losses his forces had experienced during their battles with the Minith, things had gone exceptionally well on Telgora. Still, he was glad to be underway—anxious to take the next step against the enemy.

  They were headed to Waa. When Titan destroyed the aliens' home planet, it had become the new center of the Minith race. It was there that their next battle would take place.

  After their success on Telgora, Grant had hesitated on what their next step should be. He had considered returning to Earth, but that would have put them in the same position they had been in for the past six years—waiting for the enemy to make their move, then fighting on their terms. It was not a scenario Grant saw as being successful. He had considered staying on Telgora and waiting for the Minith to land more forces there. Again, he did not see any success in that move.

  It was only after overhearing the conversation between the orbiting Minith mothership and their leader on Waa that Grant saw a clear path—through the planet Waa.

  The enemy mothership was heading for Earth, but it would take months to get there. Waa was much closer—if Gee was correct, they could be there within a week or two. That would give them time to take the action to the aliens, to succeed or fail on their own terms.

  If they failed, Earth was on its own. Grant took some solace knowing that the thousand soldiers on this ship would provide little additional help to a battle on Earth, especially if the Minith invaded in significant numbers. Mouse, and the forces he now commanded, were well armed and adequately trained, but they needed numbers on their side to have a chance. In a head-to-head contest, they would be a poor match for the hard-boiled, aggressive warriors that they Minith could put on the battlefield.

  On the other hand, if Grant and his forces succeeded—if they could overcome the Minith forces on Waa—there was a chance for complete victory.

  Grant's plan hinged on three things.

  First, the information he received from Treel would have to be true—specifically, the knowledge that Minith were programmed to bow down to a victor after being defeated. Supposedly, it was why the captured alien had opened up to Grant so readily—it was in his genetic code and moral fiber to do so. Grant could not discount the possibility that Treel had misled him, but he did not think so. And if the information was accurate, cutting off the head of the Minith Governor should require the rest of the race to submit to the human victors.

  Second, they would need access to the communication device that allowed the Minith leader to speak with her mothership in near real-time—even across light years of space. Grant was just as surprised as his Minith counterpart that the capability existed, but obtaining it would allow them to communicate with Earth. It would also allow the leadership on Waa to communicate with their forces approaching Earth. It would allow them to stop the attack before it started.

  Third, and most important, they had to land on Waa and defeat the Minith on their own territory.

  Every cliché and platitude Grant could think of applied to the situation. He was putting all his eggs in one basket, throwing a Hail Mary pass, and flying by the seat of his pants, all at once. The chance of success was slim, but he did not have a better plan.

  "How long until we reach Waa, Gee?"

  "Approximately ten days," the engineer replied. "Seven days traveling at interstellar speed, then three days to approach the planet."

  "Why three days to approach?"

  "Apparently, that's a safety mechanism built in to the craft. A mothership can exit a solar system at interstellar speed, but the systems are designed to slow it down before it enters a solar system."

  "What's the danger?"

  "The danger is
hitting a planet or moon," Gee stated with a knowing glance. Grant silently added the unspoken, but hanging, "duh" to the end of the engineer's comment.

  "What's the chance of our hitting a planet? A moon?"

  "Um. It would depend on the solar system. The more planets, the greater the likelihood of catastrophe."

  "What about Waa's solar system?"

  Gee frowned. It was obvious he knew where Grant was going with his questions. It was also clear he did not like the train of thought—but he pulled the data from the ship's databanks anyway.

  "Waa resides in a system with thirteen other planets. Combined with their moons and the sun, there are twenty-four objects the vessel could strike if we enter at excessive speed. And we don't even have to hit the sun; we just have to come close."

  "Did you ever play marbles as a kid, Gee?" Remarkably, marbles was one of the few games from the twenty-first century that kids still played.

  "Yes, of course."

  "Okay. How large an area would the Waa solar system be if the planets were the size of marbles?"

  "Well, the marbles would be different sizes, obviously. And the sun would be closer in size to a human head," Gee muttered as he referred to the controls and monitor before him. The sound of the craft as it lifted from the ground grew in its intensity, but the engineer did not seem to notice. He was concentrating on the problem Grant had given him.

  After a minute, he looked up from the monitor. His eyes were wide and a goofy-looking grin split his countenance.

  "Amazing."

  "How large?"

  "The area would be more than a square kilometer in size."

  "Damn, that is large" Grant said, then whistled. "So, what are the chances of us hitting the human head or one of those twenty-three marbles if we didn't slow down outside the solar system?"

  "Much, much less than one percent."

  "Make it happen, Gee. I want to be as close to Waa as possible before we drop out of interstellar speed."

  The engineer turned to his monitor and began working the problem.