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The
year was 84UC by the new calendar--Ultra Uunabulam…Beyond the Cradle,
as translated from Latin--now, only some eight decades after man first reached
for the edge of space; fate gave them the key to trans-light travel. With it, he
unlocked the gates to the heavens.
The
towering canopy of Demeter’s ancient forests cast a perpetual shadow on the
ground far below. Against this shadowy landscape, the mind’s eye could imagine
yet unseen creatures lying off in the nearby darkness; watching and waiting for
that one fleeting moment when prey became victim.
As
the brightness of Tau-Ceti’s day turned into the all-consuming black of night
on this moonless planet, the horrors of imagination took form; alien to this
world, they roamed the darkness in an ago-old struggle: survival.
They
moved upon the scene with a gentle, rapidly bouncing motion over the root-
covered ground; the two negotiated the natural obstacles as if the blinding
darkness that encompassed them held no domain.
Their
appearance seemed that of hellishly huge insects, with smooth carapaces, heads,
and protruding mandibles. Their shapes and movements, however, were unmistakably
that of man. Their purpose became all too clear at the sight of the angular
Maschinengawehr-style weapons they carried; these were men of war.
“Negative,
we ran into another patrol, but managed to break contact,” reported Sergeant
Bauer; he looked briefly at his helmet’s compass display. “We’re moving along
at one-ten from our initial contact point; with luck we’ll swing around them,
and then head toward the landing zone,” he concluded with a burst of static.
“Acknowledged,”
replied the disembodied voice; with that the unseen squad leader’s icon
disappeared from the sergeant’s helmet display. Only to be replaced by the com’s
standby marker. As a Team Leader, Bauer was required to carrier an additional
signal booster--and tonight he was more than thankful--for the surrounding
hilly-terrain played havoc with all but their short-range communications.
Stopping, Bauer half turned to survey in the
direction from which they had come; in the space of a few heartbeats he was
satisfied that no one was within sight.
Pivoting
back, he could see the other trooper up ahead. “We’re not faceless machines,” thought
Bauer at the sight of his fellow trooper; he understood the concept, but never
truly felt it himself. Even if his suit wasn’t linked to the others via the Pacscomp—the
suit’s integrated computer/squad-level communications—he felt he would still be
able to recognize his teammates.
Through
his helmet’s display a bright green triangular icon topped with MGN was
suspended ethereally near the other trooper; even without the electronic
identification, Bauer would have known this one: Morgan. There was just no
mistaking the fact that it was a “she” under all that body-armor; with her
wiry-build, she moved more like a dancer than a soldier.
“Maybe
that’s the problem,” he thought, as a wave of anger pushed at him. “Morgan,” Bauer
called.
“Sir,”
Morgan replied, still transfixed on the undergrowth, scanning for possible threats.
With a snap of her head she briefly looked back toward him; he was
double-timing it to catch up. As he closed the distance, he changed step to
keep pace with her.
“What was your malfunction back there?” he demanded;
only his discipline kept his emotions from coloring his words.
The
question gripped Morgan as if some unseen force reached out and engulfed her
whole body, driving the air from her lungs and making it hard to catch her
breath. Within a few paces she stopped.
She
flashed back to the Legionnaire; through a red haze, she again saw the face of the
young man. Armed with a bullpup assault rifle mounted with an underslung 30mm
grenade launcher, he had been outfitted as a soldier, with ballistic-mesh and
plate body-armor. It had been obvious by his nervous and almost confused
actions that he was no hardened warrior; more likely a conscript, forced into service
in this so-called war. His gaze had held terror as she eyed him over her
own weapon’s targeting reticle.
With her fingers poised against her weapon’s
electronic trigger group, she had depressed its' safety; like a drumbeat, there
had been a sudden pounding in her head. She had tried to concentrate on making
the shot, but as she struggled to depress the trigger the pounding threatened
to overwhelm her; it wasn't until she withdrew her fingers from the trigger
guard that the sensation subsided.
“Your
inactions…” the sound of Bauer’s voice snapped Morgan back to present, “…put everything
at risk.” The sergeant was now standing right in front of her; she tipped her
head back so that her helmet’s side-mounted scopes could look up into his
faceless visor.
Memories
of her combat instructor, Major Stonebridge, push their way into her thoughts.
The way he would scream in a put-on, typecast, British drill sergeant voice. “I
don’t give a damn about your crisis of conscience; when you’re out there and
some son-of-a-bitch is laying in fire on you and your men...” He then got up
close and personal with one of those standing in the ranks; and in an almost
pleasant voice, “… you kill him, and keep killing him. You don’t stop killing
him until he’s a pile of meat.” At which point he would rear back and demand
that they all shout in the affirmative, then in an almost fatherly way, “After
all, do you want to look into the eyes of your comrades, and know, that when
the time came…that you…You!” he said pointing off into the ranks. “That you
cared more for that son-of-a-bitch…” he paused, “…than you did for them.”
“Damnú,”
she thought to herself in the Irish curse her mother used to use. “I earned
my chance to join the squads, and I’ve already screwed it up.”
After
scanning back the way they had come, Bauer turned to Morgan. “You had him cold.
What stopped you from putting a dart through him?” It was more of an accusation
than a question.
Fighting
back tears, all Morgan wanted to do was ask for Bauer’s forgiveness, but that
would have put an end to her service in the ADF even faster than her screw up.
“I have no excuse.” She said as calmly as possible.
The
sergeant just stood there for a moment; it was obvious to Morgan that he was
contemplating her answer, and that her future may very well be decided in the
next few moments.
With a nod
of his head in the direction they were heading, Bauer turned and started to
walk, “Let’s go, we’ll de…” was all he had a chance to say as time itself
seemed to shift into slow motion. Trapped in the moment, Morgan could do
nothing but watch as, in painfully graphic detail, the faceplate on Sergeant
Bauer’s helmet deformed around the point of impact. Like a discharging strobe,
the world around her disappeared in a brilliant flash of white light.
To be continued...
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