Steel Walls and Dirt Drops (4 page)

Chapter
Five

Trooper Bennett Beaudry jabbed the scrub brush around the toilet bowl and muttered, “Bitch! She got no right to put me on punishment detail. She isn't even the commanding third yet. Bitch still doesn't even officially take over until tomorrow.”

He looked around at the single-
seater latrine and through the open hatch into the empty APE commander’s day office. He damned the rest of his squad for not responding to his request for help.

It was not the first time
Beaudry had been in the command office. Third-Level Commander Hamilton Cans, now retired, had often called in Beaudry, but not for disciplinary action. Beaudry had a particular talent for reciting lewd jokes and limericks that amused the commander when he was drinking, which even Beaudry would admit, was much of the time this past year. Beaudry had been fond of Trey Cans and not just because Cans hadn’t ever put him on punishment detail. Cans did not put anyone on punishment detail. He was fond of Trey Cans in the same way a dog sometimes returns to its own vomit.

Beaudry
turned back to the toilet bowl. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” he said as he jabbed the brush around the bowl with each invective. The toilet was self-cleaning, but the cleaning solution tank was bone dry and seemed to have stopped working. He had to get the toilet clean before the toilet could keep itself that way and he would probably have to get a new series of gaskets to replace the old dried-out ones for the solution tank. “And damn Cans, too! Least he coulda’ cleaned up his own pigsty before he left.”

Third Cans had retired in the saddle a year before actually taking his leave of the service. He filled the commander’s slot on
the organizational chart, but did as little as possible to get by. He left the day-to-day operation of the unit to the seconds below him. He neither oversaw any work nor cared about its completion, unless it might affect his retirement pay. He left the day office in utter disarray, leaving personal items and official document packs scattered among the discarded half-eaten meal packs, bottles and general debris of the drunk and slovenly.

Beaudry
hadn’t minded the mess when he was sitting in it, drinking with Cans. But, he could not understand how it had gotten this bad, this fast. After all, they had only been deployed on the Kiirkegaard for a month. The office had not looked near this bad when they had power-jacked its mobility pallet base into the spacecraft’s locking deck plates.

It was the same office Cans inherited upon his promotion to
third in command of the 1392nd. All APE equipment was designed to move with the unit. Every barracks, office and storage area was completely self-contained and built on a powered combat specification skid plate. The skid plate was shaped specifically to the office and designed to clamp into dozens of different AMSF spacecraft deck configurations.

Like the office, the entire
1392nd was completely self-contained. The design and build of each prefab barracks, storage shed, weapons locker, repair shop and even their mini-hospital for sick call was for rapid deployment on mobility pallets with their own power skid plates, armor and weapons compliments. APES units went into combat fully outfitted with everything necessary for a quick dirt drop. They touchdown on a planet prepared for any type of hostile action or when long-term deployment if the need arises. Someone had coined the phrase ‘dirt drop’ years before in describing how APES units appeared to poop out the back end of a spacecraft for the drop into planetary atmosphere. The name stuck.

During Cans’ last thirty days
of service, he retreated into his office and only came out once for his own retirement ceremony. Sixteen other APES had put in their time and retired along with Cans. Six of the sixteen were second-level commanders, leaving the unit drastically short of experienced seconds and drying up their pool of long time veterans.

Trooper
Beaudry would have joined them if he could, but he only had forty-four years in the APES. Those years plus his four years in the AMSF still left him two years short of a full pension. He was beginning to regret not taking a reduced stipend for retirement. A few troopers voluntary quit the APES because of Can’s command. Many other troopers opted for transfer to other units.

“Damn
it, Cans! It’s your fault I gotta clean up your mess,” Beaudry growled to himself. “But that bitch is gonna pay for putting me here. It’s her office now. She should clean up her own space. Yeah, she’s gonna pay…”

C
hapter Six

Trooper One Singletary watched Trooper Four Peace DeLaPax poke a long tapered black finger into the ragged hole of the barrack's steel wall. DeLaPax shook her head in wonder. “Did you see the size of her arms when she ripped that locker out of the wall? Whooeee! She stripped the screws out, heads and all.”

“Yeah? So what?”
asked Trooper Two Jem Li Park from across the barracks. “So she’s got muscles. She doesn’t scare me any." He dumped a dustpan of broken glass into the trash chute. “Besides,” he continued, “we had it good before she got here. Trey Cans left us alone. Hell, we were his squad and he didn’t even come into the bay anymore.”

DeLaPax
said, “True enough, Jemmy Li. But, the good times are over. Don’t mess with this one. She isn’t like Trey Cans ever was.” DeLaPax shook her head.

Singletary
was in Cans' squad for almost twenty years. He did not think Cans had ever been strong enough to rip a locker off the wall. For that matter, he didn’t know anyone able to do it.

DeLaPax
motioned for a couple of other troopers to help her move the locker back into place. She grunted with the effort; a small trickle of sweat slipped down from her black kinky hair and slid along her smooth skin that was only a shade lighter than her hair.

She said, “
Jemmy Li, you may be sierra hotel with that old-style Korean Karate, but I don’t think you want to tangle with our new squad leader.”

Before Park could reply, Singletary said, “All right, knock it off. We don’t have that much time to get this barracks back into inspection order. And we gotta do it right this time.” He motioned to
DeLaPax, “Peace, you take the new guy, what's his name, Ottiamig?" He glanced at the tall man. “Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout you, numb-nuts.” He pointed a finger at DeLaPax, “Peace, you take oh-my-gods with you to the repair shack. Get a hand welder and put that locker up permanently. Bring back a vacuum cleaner, too. We gotta get all of this glass up off the deck. No more half measures got me? Cans is gone. We got a new boss and we do it her way." To himself he added, “For now.”

Singletary looked around at the
barracks mess. It looked shredded from one end to the other, like a small whirlwind had blown through. Personal effects, uniforms, and bedding were scattered every which way. Six Able Squad troopers were picking their way through the mess. Four members of the squad were still missing, presumably dockside, having either not heard or ignored Second Takki-Homi’s first call or Aardrmicksdottir’s second broadcast recall.

When Third McPherson’s gear
had arrived earlier, Singletary as trooper one of Able Squad sent it to the day office. He hoped she would take the hint from Third Cans example and move in there. Singletary heard she had been escorted directly to her office upon boarding the Kiirkegaard. Instead, she carried her gear from the office and threw it on the first bunk inside the hatch. It was the only bunk not double stacked. That had been his bunk, since Cans moved out. McPherson had burst into the room just when the squad had almost succeeded in making it somewhat presentable. It was obvious she was angry before she blew in through the front hatch. She reminded him politely that the last bunk was his. She explained quietly and very politely she expected traditional bunk arrangements.

Traditional meant
trooper two would get a bunk in the next stack down the line from hers. Since she was a third-level commander, there was no trooper three in Alpha Squad. Just as in a squad commanded by a second there was no trooper two or in a squad commanded by a fifth there was no trooper five. In McPherson’s squad, trooper four took the bunk above trooper two, and so on down the line. All the bunks were aligned down one steel wall, interspersed with their combat suit racks. Lockers, showers, and toilet stalls lined the opposite wall mixed with tables and reader ports. That left Singletary at the tail end of the barracks. He was stuck bunking in the back with the FNG, newbies and tranferees. FNGs and newbies always screwed-up because they did not know any better. Transferees were always screw-ups because they were screw-ups to begin with and someone was dumping them from their squad to get rid of a problem. After twenty years in this squad, Singletary much preferred to bunk near the veterans. Some of these men and women had been with him for much of his 1392nd Alpha Squad tenure. Some were close friends, like Park. Some, like DeLaPax were not friends, but she was a veteran and he trusted her to watch his back in combat, both in bars and on dirt drops. He did not trust any frakking new guy.

He blanched at the memory
of McPherson losing all semblance of politeness when she opened the door to what should have been her locker. Inside she found his stash of alcohol, drugs, gambling paraphernalia and pornography. When she tore the locker from the steel wall and sent it sailing across the deck scattering disks, bottles, vials and pills, she wiped out almost a year’s worth of inventory. That would put a severe dent in his special pension plan. His Apes and vacuum-breather customers were either going to go dry for this trip or they would abandon him if they found other suppliers.

McPherson’s inspection
of the squad barracks left nothing uncovered. Fortunately, she hadn’t bothered to ask who owned what contraband. He wasn’t going to volunteer that information. Everyone else in the squad knew the stuff was his and if they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t say a word. She slowed down only when she had accidentally smashed Ottiamig’s flute. She stormed out ordering everyone to clean the barracks to the jot and tittle.

Chapter
Seven

Misha stood in the middle of the APES training bay. She could not believe her senses. The huge open bay area was a jumble of mobility pallets, shipping containers and scattered litter. After the clean planetary air of Heaven or even the filtered air of Heaven’s Gate Station, the training bay smell was almost enough to make her wretch. It smelled of stale sweat, moldy cheese, flat beer and a few really strange and unidentifiable odors.

Standing
around her in a rough semicircle were her ten second-level commanders. Misha was sure some of the unusual odors were coming from her direct reports. That was not surprising. Until a few moments before, all of her squad leaders except one had been off duty, whether officially or not. APES worked hard and APES played hard. She refused to let their drunken state inflate her already exploding horror and anger at the condition of her new command.

Misha stared at the assembled group. Bleary eyes squinted back at her. She tried to size them up, but it was too early in their relationship to gauge anything by looks alone. The red utility uniforms gave her no clues
. The only distinguishing mark was the X insignia of a second-level commander on their collars. She looked slowly at each of their faces. It didn’t take long for her to realize each of her squad leaders had more time in service than she.

Second-Level Commander Moraft was the woman
she had met at the gate. Even taking into account GerinAid anti-aging, Moraft looked as if she was well over the fifty-years time in service required for minimum retirement. The youngest looking of the group was a tall blond woman who, in years only, was still Misha’s senior. Age, just like size and gender doesn’t matter in command. Misha wore the triangles.

“Okay,
ladies and gentlemen. Who is the senior second?”

“I am,
sir.” Moraft spoke. “I am Second-Level Commander Theda Moraft of Bravo Squad.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moraft
,” Misha replied. Her whole command was down loaded onto her glass-pack. It included every piece of official data, bureaucratic detail and file image available for each APE in her unit. She recognized each of her seconds, although her whole command would take a little longer. But, she believed letting them introduce themselves would give her time and insight to get to know each one.

“Who is Mr. Aardmricksdottir?” Misha
asked. Even though she had practiced pronouncing the names, she stumbled over the last name. She was not able to fathom how to pronounce the second’s first name.

A
tall blond woman raised a hand. “Sir, I am Second Aardmricksdottir. I want to apologize for Trooper Beaudry at the-”

Before she could finish Misha cut her short.
“I do not want to hear apologies from anyone. I am not in a forgiving mood, so save them for later. Mr. Aardmricksdottir, do you have a recall count?”

“Yes I do,
sir. It isn’t pretty,” the woman answered. “And it’s Vark.”

“Pardon me, Second?” Misha
replied.

Aardmricksdottir replied with a
shy smile, “My name is a handful. If the Third pleases, call me Vark. It’s a nickname but since my real first name can’t be translated into Standard English, Vark will do. You know: Aardmricksdottir slid to Aardvark and onto Vark. It’s a short progression and easier on the tongue.”

Misha smiled back
inspite of herself. “All right, Vark. However, I do not ever want to hear the phrase ‘not pretty’. I heard too much of it as a child.” She could hear her father telling her how a little self-depreciating humor always set the other side of the negotiation table at ease. It put your opponent at an easy state of relaxation to use for an advantage. This may not be a negotiation, but she needed to put these seconds back on their heels. She nodded at Vark, “Please get station security to locate our lost lambs. Have them dragged back by force if necessary. As you are the officer of the day, your squad is on duty. Get your communications technician in here to channel my comms unit to our outfit’s frequencies and code specifications. Who is next senior to Mr. Moraft?”

“That would be me,
sir. I am Second-Level Suzuki Takki-Homi of Charlie Squad. Taks is good for me, if it pleases the Third.”

Misha continued
, “Thank you, Deuce Taks. Good. And who is next senior?”

No one spoke. Moraft and
Takki-Homi both started to speak, but Misha waved them off with a quick gesture. Misha clapped her hands loudly and shouted, “Too late dammit!” Startled glances confirmed she had caught them as their attention drifted. It was just as her father had predicted. The humor caused them to relax just enough for her to slap them back to the present.

She continued in a calmer voice. “Hypothetical situation: we are in combat
, I am dead, both Seconds Moraft and Takki-Homi are out of commission. Your lack of understanding about your own command structure has just killed this whole outfit. And people, with the Binders creeping into our backyards, we can’t afford to lose even one more trooper through stupidity. Come on! You are in squads that are in alphabetical order. How difficult can it be?”

A tall, thin
second looked as if he had just lost focus. She stepped forward and leaned into his face. Nose-to-nose, she shouted. “Can’t happen? Or you just don’t care?” The man blanched through his already pale skin. Misha spun back toward the group.

“Okay,
people. I know you have heard nuggets of info about Guinjundst passed through the grapevine and those lurid tales on the newsnets. Guinjundst was not just an accident or a fluke. Some very bad stink happened there. We lost a lot of good troopers because we were not as ready as we could be. We didn’t adapt as rapidly as we should have. Some seconds lost their place in the chain of command. A flash of hesitation in combat can snowball into a shit storm of epic proportions.

“Other than Moraft and Tak
ki-Homi, who knows who is next?”

“I do. I am Second-Level Race Jackson,
sir. Next would be Bilideau, then Portland and then me. And Trey, just in case no one else has said it: welcome to the 1392nd. I, for one, am glad you’re here.”

Standing next to Jackson, Takki-Home made a small circle with his thumb and forefinger. Pressing it tightly to his
lips, he generated a loud smacking noise. He winked at Misha as he nudged Jackson in the side with his elbow.

Jackson sputtered, “Dammit, Taks! I am not kissing up. I mean it. We got to get off the crapper. We got to get loaded for bear. And we got to get into this war. I didn’t join the
APES to garrison some backwater dust ball with a third-level commander who has gone civilian. I lost a brother and two cousins on Guinjundst. It ain't gonna happen again if I got anything to say about it.”

Misha could see some heads nodding in agreement, a few heads nodding as a political gesture and a few heads nodding as if they had heard it all before.
“I agree with Mr. Jackson. It is time,” Misha said. She held up her glass-pack. “First things first, I have engagement orders from The Sixth John Cochran, through Fifth IvanYetta Vaslov to my immediate supervisor Fourth Kema Wallace Ottiamig. We are to deploy to an undisclosed planetary destination on the AMSF T/E-716 Kiirkegaard. Lieutenant Colonel William Park Britaine in command of the Kiirkegaard will brief me on our designated target planet once we leave the Heaven System. The 1392nd, McPherson’s Second, is to then commence deployment onto the surface of said planet to engage all known and unknown enemies and hostile forces. We have dirt drops on our agenda. That is combat. And we are not ready to handle a girl sprout’s picnic much less warfare.

“Get your people squared away. Get it
tight, cold and in numerical order. Get your squad bays sorted out. And ladies and gentlemen, I do mean rigid and organized, not just pretty on the surface. Then get your people in here to spit shine my training bay. This place is a disgrace. The air in here may belong to the spacers, but we have to breathe it. Get our own environmental techs on the air scrubbers, both in the bays and in this sewer. General inspection is in one hour. That is fast, so kick it into overdrive.”