COMMANDER

The Combat AI archives contained much technical data, mission reports, and anecdotal stories of the sniper squads of our Marine ancestors, and some group called Seals. The Seals, surprisingly enough, were squids, Navy boys, who had trained to become elite fighters and were experts at infiltration and demolitions, and a hundred other things. This was way, way back in the days before female soldiers were admitted to combat duty. Why they were called Seals was not clear, the reasons lost in the annals of time. Kind of a shitty name to hang on your elite troops, if you ask me, but then, no one was asking. And what the hell were squids doing on land or jumping out of atmosphere flyers?

What information was there, however, was quite good. We had learned about ghilly suits and camouflage skin covering, improvised explosive devices, and many other items of detail which had, apparently, been lost or ignored over the centuries. The best part of all of it was the inclusion of the words of the soldiers themselves, the Marines and the Seals who had done the deeds and were able to describe their thinking, their processes, how to sneak through tall grass, or slip through mud silently, and much, much more. These archive files became required reading for the team.

My intention, now, was to get us into a position to practice some of these techniques in real life, something a little difficult to do aboard ship. We would do this 10K tonight as a test run, then, if everything went well, we would progress to running to the park in the darkness and begin crawling through the weeds and mud and water to practice what we had read about and discussed.

“North watcher down,” came the first report.

It was Star and Mouse. They would be making their way back to the barracks now. Flyboy and CanMan were scanning for any more watchers who may have slipped into place while we were at the park earlier. The next report came two minutes later.

“West watcher down.”

The team gathered their gear and trooped down to the first floor to wait for the strike teams. When we were all together I gave my final orders.

“We have two wounded . . . Boomer and Wheels have taken fire and cannot walk.”

Boomer and Wheels both fell to the floor, writhing in pain with cartoonish over-acting. Mondo!

“We all finish the run or we all fail. Move!”

I took off out the door at a full run, my pack riding high and tight as it should. Ronin spoke on the team channel and took control immediately, instructing Dog and Stitch to pick up the wounded and move. Then, we were all running quickly and nearly silently. There was some muted clanking from the packs, and boots slapped on the pavement. I gave a couple of hand signals and we slowed slightly. The noise decreased noticeably. I then kept the pace, and extended my senses to look and listen carefully for any sign of any Hanosian who might discover us. The team showed great discipline and not one of them activated their sleeve displays to risk the light giving away our position, even though the displays would have clearly shown exactly where any nearby “enemy” were positioned.

At one kilometer, I signaled for Ronin to take the lead and fell back a little to take Boomer from Stitch. He was breathing pretty hard and getting louder. Boomer was a good-sized woman. Buzz took Wheels from Dog, and we did it all without slowing down. Every kilometer, then, someone would relieve the one carrying the wounded and someone else would take the lead if necessary, without instructions, without orders, only brief flashes of hand signals, just doing their job.

Twice we all had to dive for the shadows at a hand signal from the leader, and once from a couple of words spoken over the transceivers by the rear guard. There was no jostling for position, there was no competition to see who could go the fastest or farthest carrying the wounded. Everyone did what they needed to do for the best benefits of the whole team. I was very impressed. Ronin had obviously been doing a lot more leading and instructing of which I had not been aware.

We finished the run cleanly and hit the showers in shifts, then gathered in the barracks room for a debriefing. I called for free speech.

Dog spoke first as he stood and flexed his beefy pecs and shoulders. “Now, that, boys and girls, was one damn fine run!”

“Speak for yourself,” declared Boomer. “You try getting bounced on shoulders for 10K at a run and see how you like it.”

“What surprised me was the way we just did it, like we had done it before or just somehow knew what to do,” said Mouse. “In my old troop half of us would have been totally confused, waiting for orders from the line officer.”

“Yeah, it was smmoooth,” drawled Wheels, drawing out the last word.

“You all knew what to do because you each took personal responsibility,” I said. “Ronin has done a good job with leadership and trained this team for both joint activity and independent thought and action, as well. Did anyone learn anything else tonight?”

“I learned Ronin was right,” Spear admitted. “I paid attention to my thoughts and actions as I made my ‘kill,’ and there was some hesitation. Well, not really hesitation but . . . I guess doubt is the best word. I caught myself thinking if this was real, then maybe some kids somewhere would have a mother who wouldn’t come home. I mean, I know she’ll sleep like a baby till dawn or so but, I mean, what if it was real? I need to get my head straight on this.”

I could hear the hesitation, the doubt in her tone. Her need to be recognized as a good sneaker had been evident in her earlier statement at dinner, and now I heard clear signals she felt, somehow, doubtful of her position and ability, or perhaps her role in the job to be done and the potential guilt.

“When the time comes, baby girl, I think you’ll do just fine,” replied Dog. “You took your turn like all of us tonight. When it’s real, you’ll do what you have to do for the team.”

“Dog is right,” added Ronin. “You do fine in training. You’re good with hand-to-hand and blades, and fucking awesome with guns, and tonight you proved you are as much a part of this team as any of us. You’ve earned your shield and spear. Shut the fuck up and do your job, trooper,” she finished with a smile.

I saw Spear’s eyes flick to one side and down, as if she had doubt about Ronin’s statement. Not good.

“Boss,” said Stitch, looking at me, “since we’re in free speech, I have something to say.”

He looked around at everyone and then back at me before he continued.

“We know you formed the team, sir, and this isn’t meant as any disrespect to you. It’s meant as showing respect to Ronin. Ronin is the one who motivated us. You made her a leader, and she has taken the responsibility and owned it. By rank, we’re all equal as troopers. As a team leader Ronin totally has our respect. She has earned it the same way you have earned it. We all think it would be a good thing for Ronin to have rank that goes with the responsibility, sir.”

“And you don’t think team leader is a rank?” I asked.

“To us it is. She is our line officer, no question, but not on the books. We think she deserves to be recognized officially with a commensurate rank, sir.”

A chorus murmur of “yeah” and “damn right” was heard, and serious-looking faces nodded agreement. Ronin was embarrassed and red-faced. Any second now she was going to flare and leap up with cursing and disciplines.

I pointed at her and said, “Hold!”

I walked over to my suit and spoke to the AI, saying, “AI, stand down from Condition Two. Acknowledge the following orders vocally. Record the following. As of this time, insert time index, Commander JD Rawlings assigns a field promotion to Trooper Carla Donner, to the rank of senior sergeant. Acknowledge.”

“Orders acknowledged,” said the suit AI, “with Commander JD Rawlings, commander of PapaBravo Clan, assigned Fleet vessel Rontar, assigning field promotion to the rank of senior sergeant to Marine Trooper Carla Donner, 4131/2720435, promotion effective immediately. Current assignment, Commander?”

“Current assignment, team leader of Team Zulu, PapaBravo Clan.”

“Promotion and assignment acknowledged and recorded, Commander.”

“Very good, AI. Transmit immediately to Combat AI, Fleet vessel Rontar, via encrypted subspace burst transmission. Return to Condition Two immediately thereafter.”

“Acknowledged,” said the suit.

I turned back to the team and looked at Stitch and smiled. “Satisfactory?”

They all leaped up and cheered “Hoo-rah!” and began to pummel Ronin with slaps on her shoulders and handshakes. She appeared glassy-eyed and numb.

Over the transceiver, I said to her, “Buck up, Sergeant, you’ve earned it. You have built one hell of a team here.”

Out loud I said, “Fire up the trauma bot, Stitch, you’ve got a tattoo to burn!”

Our rank tattoos were invisible to anything but our enhanced vision from our cyber-implanted right eyes. In a certain spectrum, though, the neck tattoo glowed like a neon sign.

An hour later most of the team was in their racks and I had Ronin bring Spear down to the main floor, in the kitchen area. I was fixing a sandwich when they appeared.

“Thanks, Ronin. Take sentry in the hallway.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Spear was left standing before me. She had snapped to Attention upon entry and was still there. I almost smiled. She’d probably still be there two days from now if I didn’t say anything.

“At ease, Spear. Take a seat.”

She moved with some slight hesitation but did seat herself.

“Want one?” I asked as I finished putting my snack together.

“Ah, no, sir, but thank you.”

I sat across from her and began eating and talking.

“We are off the record and in free speech, Spear. You okay with that?”

If anything, she now seemed even more nervous. Not quite as I intended but as I had half-expected.

“Um . . . I, um . . . I guess so, sir.”

“It’s Linda, right? Linda Vickers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have any family, Linda?”

Her head dropped and her voice was low, bitter. “Not anymore, sir.”

“Yes, you do. Right here in this team.”

She looked up at me, her eyes large but she did not speak.

“If one of the team went down and needed help, you’d help, no matter what it took. If you were ordered to take rear guard and protect the team at all costs, you would give your life for us without hesitation. Is this true, or not true?”

“Yes, sir . . . um . . . it is.”

“Do you think it is? Or do you know it is?”

She was breathing deeply, quickly, unsure of her answer, unsure of what I wanted to hear or what she should say. I stood and threw my sandwich remains on the plate and stepped around the table to stand beside Spear and began unfastening my pants.

“What are you doing?” she nearly shouted.

“I like weak, unsure women,” I answered her, “and now you’re gonna . . .”

“Oh, no I’m not!” she cried out.

I stopped what I was doing and reached out to grab her arms to stand her up.

“Stop!” she shouted and punched her arms between mine to break my hold perfectly.

I reached to grab her again and she chopped at my right inner elbow with her left forearm and then pushed a thumb toward my face while simultaneously stepping forward with her left foot between my legs. In only a moment, she would jab the thumb into my eye or my throat, hook her left foot around my leg, and power drive her right knee into my solar plexus to take my breath and put me on the floor. At the same time, I could see Ronin running into the kitchen area reaching for her combat knife, her eyes blazing in fury. At me.

One of the worst crimes which could ever be committed by an officer against a trooper was using rank to force sexual violation. To us in the corps, such a thing was worse than pedophilia.

I blocked Spear’s trip with a movement of my knee, dodged back from the thumb strike, and jumped one big stride backwards, then held up both hands, palms out.

“Hold!” I commanded in my best officer’s voice.

Both troopers were really, really pissed off, and Ronin had her knife out with its razor edge gleaming brilliantly.

“Linda, look at what’s happened! This is exactly what I wanted you to see! Right now, at this moment, you know who you are, and you know what is right and what is wrong and you know what to do!”

They were both looking at me like I was crazy.

“You stood up for yourself and your rights without hesitation against your own commanding officer, and your defense and counters were perfect.”

Anger still simmered behind both sets of eyes, yet now thoughts were running there, too.

“Look around you,” I continued. “What do you see?”

“I see Ronin with her knife,” Linda answered hoarsely.

“Yes! You see your line officer ready to slice her commander to ribbons on your behalf. You see a mama protecting her cub!”

I turned to look at Ronin. “Donner, you’re ready to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Fuckin’ A! I was . . . till about a half a second ago.” Her voice was obsidian brittle and sharp, as nasty as any of the knives she made.

I turned back to Vickers. “Do you still have any doubts about who you are, or what you are worth to this team? Or how the team feels about you?”

I could see it working in her mind. Ronin was putting her fighting knife away but she still had a vicious scowl for me. Finally, Linda looked at me, straight at me and into my eyes.

“Are we still in free speech, sir?”

I nodded.

“That was a really shitty thing to do!” she said to me, her voice harsh, furious. “But,” she continued in a softer voice, “it was exactly what I needed.”

“Explain, Spear!” demanded Ronin.

“Sir!” Linda rapped as she snapped to Attention. “The commander was teaching this trooper a lesson, sir! I had doubts about myself and my place on this team. I wondered if I had really made the cut or if I had been carried by others, sir. The commander just taught me that I have personal value, that . . .”

“So,” Ronin interrupted, “he pushed you into a reaction point to demonstrate you would react correctly. And, even more, that I would react correctly.”

It was a statement, not a question. “Aye, sir!” Linda responded curtly but didn’t wipe at the tears on her face. She was still at Attention.

Ronin turned to glare at me, then back at Linda, then back at me.

“You are, without doubt, the fucking most unorthodox man I have ever met!” she snapped out. “I can’t decide if I love you or hate you right now, but, by the Gods, I will follow you anywhere, sir.”

Ronin turned back to Spear. “Trooper! Do you finally have your head straight and your shit together?”

“Aye, sir, the trooper does!”

Ronin turned back to me. “Commander, Senior Sergeant Donner reporting Trooper Vickers is now right and tight!”

“Very good, Sergeant. Dismiss the trooper and remain.”

“Spear! Dismissed!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” She snapped a quarter right and marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Ronin turned back to me. “Sir!”

I eyed her carefully. “What have you learned, Ronin?”

There was a momentary pause while she thought about what she would say, and how to say it.

“I have learned that I must be ready at all times to be as much of a bastard as I need to be for the sake of my team, sir.”

I turned and walked to the food chiller and opened it. Inside were several bottles of either beer or ale, or something very close to those. I picked out two and popped the sealed tops off on the edge of the counter. Yup, they foamed. I handed one to Ronin. We touched the bottles together in mutual salute and drank deeply.

“Now, tell me why you’ve been sandbagging the intelligence testing.”

“Hell, that’s easy, Wolf. If I showed I had any brains at all someone would have moved me from AG and killing fucking pirates to some officer type position. I guess I’m screwed now, though, huh?”

We both chuckled and tipped the brews back.

The next night we made it to the park—dressed in standard work fatigues as I wanted it to be a fair test for us and not have the advantage of camouflaging BBDs—and were having great fun slithering through mud, sliding on our bellies through shrubs, and all sorts of other mondo stuff. We happened upon two different sets of teenagers kissing and petting in the darkness on blankets spread under trees and slid past within mere meters of them without them knowing.

Otherwise, it was quiet, unless you counted the zillion bug bites, the snake bite CanMan collected, or the large, heavily armored and toothed reptilian Dog was able to wrestle with only one or two bites and claws. It had taken four of us to control the beast enough for Dog to get free and crawl away. We carried him back just for the practice—okay, he had lost some blood. I was proud of the team. Dog had not cried out when attacked, and the rest of the team all reacted quickly and silently. Aside from the thrashing noises and the grunting of the reptilian, it had been a silent adventure. All in all, a very good night. Everyone on the team was tired and well-satisfied with our efforts. Stitch got to practice with the trauma bot, and Dog would have some new scars to brag about. If we ever got back to the ship, he was sure to get laid, until his teammates winked and nodded and whispered those “battle scars” were really just dog bites, that is.

Joonia Valco had been back, of course, and had done everything she could think of to seduce me again but I wasn’t going for it. Lt. Cmdr. Dotes had had no luck at all trying to get the AI hacked into the Hanosian database archives and was stumped. A society with this level of technology should have no way to stop such activity. The AI should have been able to slice into their networks like a power blade through flesh but the firewalls had held firm. Put another chit on the side of the Hanosian “items which made no sense.”

Other than what we had been able to learn here on the planet, we had only conjecture and logic trails to follow. If you counted in the items which made no sense you came up with a significantly sized question mark about the openness and veracity of the Hanosians. We were certainly doing our best to ensure they learned nothing from us but what we wanted them to know. If Joonia had been after a DNA sample from me, it was no issue. We had already admitted to being who we appeared to be, and proudly called ourselves humans and Earthlings. She would have gotten nothing else from the, um, samples, I had provided.

Nanobot programming was absolute in this regard. Once they were separated from the host system, by a sneeze or cough, through tears, through normal bodily elimination, or by, um, any other method, they would self-destruct immediately upon losing contact with the nano network in the host system. Under no circumstances could one last more than a few seconds outside of the body of the trooper with whom they were synced. There was nothing left of them after self-destruction other than a few proteins and enzymes normally found in the body, anyway. Everything else comprising them separated into constituent atoms or molecules and were flushed from the body.

The next morning when Joonia appeared she told us there was still no word from the ministers. I laughed it off and made a joke, then told her we decided to take her up on her offer of guided tours for our group. The team would split into several smaller groups and be led around to shopping districts, to business districts, to art and science museums, everything we could think of which could help us to get a better handle on this planet and the Hanosian history. I requested a visit to the library but, dang, wouldn’t you know it? It was closed today. Huh, what a coincidence! We left Dog and CanMan on sentry at the barracks and headed out in our groups.

Since many of us would be near markets or shopping districts, Joonia arranged a line of credit for our party and handed out printed vouchers which could be filled out with the descriptions of items purchased and amounts spent. We would settle up later by some sort of swap arrangement made between Captain Lewellyn and Prime Minister Bando.

Instead of the library, Joonia was taking me to a sector of the city which had what she called a Citizen’s Market. There, individuals or small businesses could rent booth space right on the streets which were closed off to all but pedestrian traffic. In those booths they sold or bartered homemade artwork and craft items, fresh farm produce, clothing, and all manner of other items. There were numerous booths selling prepared foods for immediate consumption, including wines, coffees, teas, beers, and ales. Okay, I would absorb a little local culture. Mondo!

The market was crowded, noisy with the quiet hubbub of multitudes of voices speaking. I saw many transactions of barter, most with some kind of trading currency changing hands but some with a pass of a small plastic rectangle over a device. I deduced the device must be some kind of EM reader which read emanations or patterns from a chip embedded in the plastic rectangle or a magnetic strip printed on the card.

I saw some people using a comms device, speaking into one end and listening through the other. Wires connected the device in their hands to a metal box set with a number pad. They must press in a particular number combination to be connected with the person to which the number combination was assigned.

The art and craftwork was all quite reminiscent of similar works I had seen on other worlds of human settlement, as was the whole gathering of the market place. This was a place to socialize, to meet with others, and I stood out like a sore thumb in my work fatigues. I took steps to allay that by purchasing several items of civilian clothing and changing into them there at the market. I carried my work fatigues in a cloth bag along with a few other purchases.

Even so, eyes followed our every move, our every path through the market. They were curious and a little concerned. The fact I was a scarred veteran soldier who stood at least a head taller and weighed at least twenty kilos more than most of them was not lost on me, either.

Nonetheless, it was a fine morning. We ate a little, sampled wine and beer and coffees, and Joonia even bartered for a couple of little souvenirs for me aside from the clothing. The sun was warm and there was a light breeze, barely enough to tousle the hair of the women but enough to make it very pleasant.

At 1330 hours a ringing sound began to come from inside the handbag Joonia carried. She pulled out a device and pressed a stud, then spoke into it and listened. It must have been a wireless version of the communication device the other people had used, probably a signal based on their radio frequencies. She looked at me with wide eyes.

“The ministers have reached a conclusion. They are calling for an immediate meeting with you.”

“Okay,” I said with a smile for her. “This is good news after so much waiting.”

As we made our way out of the now-crowded marketplace, I had Joonia stop at a restroom where I could change back into my work uniform. As I changed, I commed the ship through the subspace transceiver in my head.

“Captain Lewellyn.”

“Commander,” he replied after a moment. “What is it?”

“Have you heard from the ministers, yet?”

“No. Why? Have you?”

“Yes, Captain. They just contacted Joonia Valco, my guide, with a request for an immediate meeting with me.”

“Odd. We have heard nothing. Even more odd, earlier this morning we picked up what could be a transmission of some kind on the sensors. It lasted only a few milliseconds then stopped. Whatever it was, it was not normal background noise or radiation of any kind because it was unique. Like nothing we have recorded thus far in this system.”

“I was afraid of this,” I replied. “I am putting my team on high alert. I will meet with the ministers to find out what is going on, and comm you with their determination. Suggestions, Captain?”

“They may try to detain you, Commander. I would not advise allowing it. If the signal we detected was a transmission it could mean someone else is coming to the party.”

“Yes, but who? We know the comms signatures of the Shaquaree. If it was them, we would have recognized the signal.”

“Maybe,” argued Lewellyn, “and maybe not. Suppose the Hanosians might be using some technology from yet a third race to contact the Shaquaree. Perhaps a third-race technology was used to locate our presence here to begin with. This whole situation could deteriorate very quickly.”

“True. The problem is we just don’t know enough yet. I will meet with them but I will take what precautions I can.”

“Very well. Keep me informed as you are able.”

“Count on it. End.”

While in the vehicle riding to the ministry building, I spoke by transceiver with Team Zulu, then with my lieutenants aboard the Rontar to update them with our plans.