CHAPTER 4
“Look alive!” Amos slapped the top of the cab and swung the turret to the left. “We’re almost to Buri Buri. Have to sit out in the open for a bit.”
Noah clutched his carbine to his chest and scanned back and forth across his assigned sector. The jungle had greened back to life as they drove further from the void port. They’d stopped on an elevated road flanked by rice paddies and patches of farmland dotted with short, spiky plants. A wall taller than the truck he was in curved away into the jungle, covered in a dull brown coating.
“Why have we stopped?” Noah asked. “We’re a giant target out—”
“Stuff it, cherry,” Amos spat over the front of the cab. “We’ve got Daggers all over the place, ground sensors, automated turrets that pop over the walls . . . Flags know better than to fool around over here.”
Noah remained tense. Donan trembled in his seat next to him.
“Noah . . . I don’t like this place,” Donan whispered. “What’s wrong with all these trees? They’re not like the ones back home.”
“You’re scared of the trees? Really?” Noah nudged him.
“It’s what’s in the trees. Do the insurgents even speak Standard here? Can we just shoot at any blah blah we hear out there?” Donan brought the stock of his carbine up to his shoulder.
“That’s ridiculous, we can’t just—”
“You’d better.” Amos smacked his gum. “Soon as we’re through this outpost, it’s hostile territory all the way to the sea. Whole goddamn planet hates us, except the couple clans around Malakal, and the only reason they’re on our side is because we won’t kill them while the rest of the Flags will. Collaborators and stuff like that. Didn’t y’all watch the threat videos?”
“We had to move out before we got to that one,” Noah said.
“Did see the STD vid.” Donan shuddered.
“Ha! Good news is if you get the fuzz off a local provider, the medics give you Penzodan, which’ll clear it right up and will give you some wild dreams if you crush the pills up. Win-win.” Amos smiled, revealing a couple missing teeth.
“Why are we sitting out here?” Noah asked Mason. “The whole convoy is one big target.”
“Do you see any burnt-out trucks?” Mason asked. “Because I don’t see any, nor do I see artillery craters or bullet holes anywhere. Everything is fine out here, stop pissing your pants.”
“When . . . when should I piss my pants?” Noah asked quietly.
“You won’t need me to tell you.” Mason touched the side of his helmet. “Alright, we’re moving in. Captain wants us to practice local security when we get inside.”
Noah froze. His eyes darted from side to side as he tried to recall the battle drill. The truck lurched forward, pressing him against Donan’s shoulder.
“Just because we’re deployed doesn’t mean I’m into you,” Donan said.
“You just . . . shut up,” Noah shoved him away.
The convoy rolled through the thick perimeter wall and into a small village. The first thing that hit Noah was the smell. A pall of rotting food and raw sewage hit him through his full-face helmet. The trucks drove to a wide gravel parking lot, Noah’s stopped in the front row closest to a sewer/garbage trench between the lot and the village. Homes were built from plasti-boards used in logistics pallets with thatch roofs, laid out haphazardly to the other side of the perimeter.
“Saint’s oath, what a shithole,” Leroi said from the other side of the supplies at Noah’s back.
“Dismount, three-sixty security, move it!” Mason grabbed the side rail with one hand and vaulted over. He landed smoothly and half brought his carbine up, but brought it down just as quickly.
Children dressed in rags and uniformly shoeless peeked around the huts. They chattered at each other in a language that sounded to Noah nothing like Standard or any of the old dialects back on Bretton.
Noah tried to keep his profile low as he jumped over the side rails. His heel caught on a post and what would’ve been a smooth dismount turned into a near disaster as his momentum carried his upper body over before the rest of him. Only his grip on the rail kept him from going face-first into the gravel. The frame over his fingers and up to his shoulder caught and held him in place as his legs swung down like a pendulum, kicking up rocks and dust.
“You okay?” Mason asked without looking back.
“Yup! I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Noah crouched slightly into a firing stance and approached the edge of the trench.
A little girl, no more than six or seven, emerged from the hovels holding an empty water bottle. She wore an old sack tied around her waist with lengths of intertwined plastic strips. Her hair was unkempt and ragged where it fell around her neck. Noah wasn’t sure if her skin was naturally tan or if she was just filthy.
“Mister mister, gimme please!” she shouted, a thick accent to her words.
“Christ the protector, she doesn’t even have shoes,” Mason said. “Abbie always had shoes, didn’t matter how much I was making . . .”
“Sections, cycle through water top off and bio needs,” Sergeant Corre said through the squad channel. “We’re stopped for the command team to get a brief on the enemy situation. Should be rolling out again in twenty minutes.”
“Donan.” Mason canted his head back towards the truck. “Dump and cycle on the other side. We’re not doing that where the kids can watch.”
“Yeah . . . ’course not, Sarge.” Donan jogged to the other side of the truck to empty his bladder into the truck’s onboard recycler/ambient moisture collector.
Noah sidestepped towards the cab to cover Donan’s sector.
More children appeared, but only the one little girl was brave enough to approach the edge of the stinking trench.
“Guys, show ’em your face,” Amos said as he lit a cigarette. “Just crack your buckets so they can tell you’re not a Skien. That’s why they’re afraid of you.”
“There are Skiens here?” Mason asked. “I thought they were all on the Alliance frontier.”
“Buddy, you’ve got to stop believing what you hear on the wires.” Amos shook his head. “Skiens are wherever there’s fighting. The Most High love ’em, never complain and they kill everything they can. Flags ain’t fans, naturally.”
Mason hooked a thumb under the front of his helmet and lifted up his visor. The little girl with the empty bottle grew excited, her eyes widening. A gaggle of children crept towards the trench, some calling back into the hovels. Some adults finally emerged, mothers with babies on their hips, and a few elderly folks.
“Why don’t they like Skiens?” Noah asked. “Aren’t they the same as any other Hegemony soldier?”
“Because Skiens don’t have souls, Cherry.” Amos reached into the cab and took something from a driver. “Challa challa, iman chi!”
An older boy, perhaps twelve and taller than the rest of them, came up and shoved the girl aside. Amos slapped the top of the cab and let out several curt local phrases that cowed the child and forced him to look down at his bare feet.
Amos drew out a small sack, stuffed to the brim and wrapped in plastic.
“Cherry, toss this to the kid but don’t let it land in the shit river. They will jump in to get it and I don’t want that image on my mind again.” Amos handed the bag to Noah. Inside were bright orange rectangular packs the size of his thumb.
“Refeeds?” Noah raised his visor. “Why are you giving them mineral and electrolyte gum?”
“Because they think it’s candy.” Amos looked at him like he was an idiot. “Bonus is that it keeps their immune systems somewhat strong and this way none of them go blind or have their limbs go permanently numb from the Blue Rot fungus that’s all over this part of the jungle. You got a problem with that?”
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” Noah went to the edge of the trench and chucked the sack to the oldest child. The rest of the kids formed a line behind him. The girl tore open the top and pressed the Refeeds into grubby hands. The recipients clutched the gift to their chest and ran back to the village.
“Dumbass calling me ‘sir.’” Amos took a long drag on his cigarette. “You think an officer would get this shit job?”
“There’s not enough,” Mason said as the bag grew lighter faster than the line shortened.
“I do what we can. Sometimes the resupply drones make their humanitarian drops from the big city. Sometimes they don’t. You think it’s easy to scrounge anything for them?” Amos asked.
The boy held the sack upside down and shook it. A final pack fell out and there was a quick scrum to snatch it up. The remaining children turned away, dejected. The boy flapped the sack at Amos.
The gunner reached into his pocket and tossed him a mostly empty pack of cigarettes. The boy shouted something, and Amos gave him the finger.
The girl with the empty bottle was the only one that remained. Her lips quivered and she started crying.
“Mason . . . we’ve got to have something for her,” Noah said. “I’ve got no food on me at all. Everything I saved from home’s in my duffel bag and that’s . . . I don’t know.”
“You just assumed we’d be fed while we’re out here?” Mason shook his head. “Empty bellies are great teachers. I’ve got a little something.”
The sergeant reached into a side pouch and dug toward the bottom, then took out a plastic-wrapped roll that fit into his palm.
“That’s mom’s buerre sale. She said to save it for—”
“I’m aware, dipshit. Little girl’s crying and I can’t stand it.” Mason pinched the end of a roll of caramel between his thumb and forefinger so the girl could see it, then waggled it when her gaze locked on. She nodded emphatically.
Mason tossed it to her, and she dropped her bottle into the sewer trench to catch it. She gave it a sniff, then peeled plastic off the end. She took a tentative bite, then clasped it to her chest.
“Thanks mister mister.” She turned and ran away.
“What was that?” Amos asked. “Got to be careful with what you give ’em. Older kid wants it and they’ll break her arm to get it. Adults will, too.”
“Caramel with sea salt,” Mason said. “Made by hand back home . . . it was my only one. She would’ve been better off with a Sustain Bar.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like there’s a dentist around that can make a difference if she’s— Ah shit.” Amos tensed up.
In the village, a man emerged from the crowd and approached the trench. He was tall and slim, wearing a bright white tunic and khaki pants. A wide blue sash with a red tassel at the bottom ran from one shoulder to hip.
The locals gave him a wide berth. None looked directly at him.
“These assholes are here too?” Mason relaxed slightly. “Everyone’s a sucker.”
“You watch your mouth,” Amos snapped. “They’ll save your soul.”
“The hell they will. Donan, what’s taking you so long?” Mason went around the front of the truck just as Donan hurried out of the gap between two rows.
The man approached the edge of the trench. His head was bald, and his deep blue eyes were kind and happy. He held his arms out stiffly to his side, then slapped his hands together into a prayer position, elbows and arms level across his chest. He bowed his head and stood still. A heavy pack hung loose on his back.
“Uh . . . what’s going on?” Noah asked.
“Shepherd,” Amos said. “They’re from the Antares Temple. Listen to me. Hey!” He slapped his palm twice against the cab. Noah and Donan turned back to him. “The Antares aren’t on anyone’s side, you get me? They’re here looking for missing soldiers and that’s all. They don’t talk to anyone, don’t say a thing about where any unit’s at or do anything that’ll help with targeting or attacks. Nothing.”
“He doesn’t do anything?” Donan asked. “Just stands there?”
“He’s waiting for an officer or a donation,” Amos said. “You can ignore ’em, but don’t ever hurt ’em or get in their way. Commander’s coming!”
The Antares didn’t respond.
“So they can just . . . go wherever they want on the battlefield? Sounds like a great way to be a spy and collect intelligence,” Donan said.
“Don’t even say shit like that,” Amos said, then raised his voice for the Antares to hear him. “Sorry, they’re new. Trying to teach ’em.”
“I bet there would’ve been a video about them at indoc if we were still there,” Noah said. “I’m lost. So these Antares just wander about the battlefield doing what . . . exactly?”
“They’re looking for the dead. Soldiers of heaven. They find anyone that’s been left out on the field and either bring the body back for a proper burial or at least DNA to report the death to family. Doesn’t matter what you do for them . . . they’ll make sure you get last rites,” Amos said.
A Hegemony officer in the same simple coveralls as Amos jogged over and jumped across the trench. He pulled a fold of plasti-sheets from a cargo pocket. To Noah’s shock, the officer knelt on both knees, then repeated the arms to the side then palms together motion, the plasti-sheets pressed between his palms.
The Antares took the papers gently and slipped them into his sash. He drew out a set of dog tags, each attached to a small beige case and held them in the palm of his hand. The captain took the tags and rubbed a thumb across the face.
“He found truck 37,” the captain said to Amos. Amos nodded slowly, his face darkening.
The Antares read through the plasti-sheets, then tossed them into the sewage. The papers dissolved quickly. Noah got a quick glance of maps marked with red circles denoting where combat had taken place.
“Cherry, toss this beside him. Don’t ever hand anything directly to an Antares, you understand?” Amos held a ration pack over the side of the cab.
“I don’t get this at all.” But Noah did as requested and chucked the pack next to the Antares.
“They’re pretty self-sufficient, but sometimes they need a little extra. It’s bad luck to bother them, you get that? Even the Flags leave them alone, but they help find dead Flags too,” Amos said. “And if you ever hurt one . . . your soul will never leave the world. You’ll be a ghost for all time and all eternity. Got it?”
“Can’t say I share that religious belief, but okay,” Noah said.
The Antares picked up the ration pack and walked away without a word.
“Didn’t they set up a Temple in Lorient? Real little place but some of the clergy were upset. Happened after your brother and the rest of the last levy were sent off world,” Donan said.
“I was like ten and our province was cut off because of the plague,” Noah said. “Maybe they did? I’m not . . . I really need some sleep.”
“Noah, cycle.” Mason came around the back of the truck.
“Great, nothing like drinking my own filtered pee for the foreseeable future.” Noah hurried away.