Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (11 page)

Fatani and his seat rose up from the floor and returned to their original position. He then snapped the safety harness and cable winch to his vest and unbuckled himself from the seat. Steadying himself against the wall, he punched in the command to retract the bubble. The bubble’s sections of glass separated and folded away, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the HERC’s floor. The ceiling hatch to the Copperhead was two meters below it. Fatani turned to Patu and yelled over the roar of the wind. “You sure you don’t want to take care of the wounded?”

“Positive. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the opportunity to show off your keen medical skills.”

Fatani sighed. “They better not be bleeders.” He positioned himself over the hole and used the winch to lower himself down the hatch.

Mazer watched the feed from Fatani’s helmetcam as Fatani opened the hatch and lowered himself into the tank. There were no bleeders inside. There weren’t even dummies. There were two live men, both in safety helmets and heavy padding. Mazer didn’t recognize either of them. One was in a business suit, and the other was in a tan uniform Mazer didn’t recognize.

“Sergeant Fatani,” said the one in the suit. “So good to see you. I was just telling Captain Shenzu here that you’re the finest gunner in the NZSAS.”

To Fatani’s credit, he didn’t respond with a stunned silence. Rigorous training and a cool head will do that for you. “Are either of you wounded?” he asked.

The man in the suit laughed and waved a hand. “No, no. We’re fine. We had Colonel Napatu put in that bit of intel to get you to come down here and pull us out. Shall we go up? Captain Shenzu would very much like to see the cockpit.”

“Of course,” said Fatani, as if this were the most natural of requests in the world.

In under a minute, Fatani had the recovery straps around each of the men’s chests. He then carefully powered up the winch and raised them into the HERC. By then, Mazer was out of the copilot’s seat and giving the men a hand, helping them into the cabin.

“Lieutenant Mazer Rackham,” said the man in the suit. “An honor to meet you. I hope our little Hercules has met your expectations.”

His accent was European, but Mazer couldn’t place it. “You seem to know all of us, sir. Yet we don’t have the honor of knowing you.”

“Where are my manners?” He extended a hand. “Heinrich Burnzel. Global sales. Juke Limited.”

A salesman. This was getting stranger by the moment.

“And this is Captain Shenzu of the People’s Liberation Army,” said Burnzel. “A most respected officer of the Chinese military.”

Shenzu bowed slightly and shook Mazer’s hand. “Very impressive flying, Lieutenant. We watched the whole approach on Mr. Burnzel’s holopad.” His English was flawless and completely without an accent.

Burnzel was all smiles as he held up his holopad as if proof of the claim.

“Lieutenant Reinhardt is our pilot,” said Mazer, “but I’ll be sure to pass on your praise. Please, won’t you be seated? The safety harnesses are there in the jump seats. We should have a smooth ride in, but we’d appreciate you buckling up as a precaution.”

“Of course,” said Burnzel, the smile still plastered across his face. He sat in the jump seat and began buckling the straps. “We were also hoping you could demonstrate to Captain Shenzu how fast the HERC could go with a heavy payload.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh you know. Give us a little show, Lieutenant. Zip around the valley for a minute. Impress us. No loop-the-loops, though,” he said with a laugh. “Go upside down and we lose antigrav.” Then he laughed as if that were the funniest joke in the world.

Fatani was back inside by now. He and Mazer exchanged glances, and Fatani shrugged. Mazer hit the command to seal the hole in the floor and made his way back to the copilot’s seat.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Reinhardt said under his breath.

“I’m finding out,” said Mazer. He slid his helmet visor back down into place. “Blue River, Blue River. This is Jackrabbit. Target is secure and airborne, over.”

This time the voice on the radio was Colonel Napatu’s. “Jackrabbit this is Blue River. Have you secured the passengers?”

“Affirmative. They’re retrieved and buckled in the cabin, sir.”

“Good. Don’t jostle them. Bring her in nice and easy.”

“They’re asking that I come in hot, sir. Give them a show.”

“Negative. You bring her in slow. We’re not bowing to some corporate jackass any more than we have to.”

*   *   *

“A sales demonstration?” said Reinhardt. He, Patu, Fatani, and Mazer were all standing in Napatu’s office, still wearing their flight suits. “The mission was a sales demonstration?”

“The Chinese are interested in the HERC,” said Colonel Napatu. “They wanted to see it in action before they cut any deal with Juke Limited.”

“Since when does the SAS give test-drives to the Chinese?” said Reinhardt. “Look, no offense, sir, but we were taking some heat out there. Nothing but flares, yes, but we all took this op rather seriously. I was flying like a bumblebee to avoid that flack. We could have buried that bird in a hillside. And for what? To show off to a Chinese captain and some suit from sales trying to meet his monthly quota? Pardon me for saying so, sir, but this whole thing strikes me as incredibly negligent.”

Napatu leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his stomach, and cocked his head to the side. “Are you finished, Lieutenant?”

Reinhardt straightened and retreated a step, his cheeks flushed. He put his hands behind his back in parade-rest position. “Yes, sir. Pardon me for speaking candidly, sir.”

“Since I happen to believe you’re justified in being annoyed, I’ll forgive that candor, Lieutenant. But I’ll kindly remind you that an SAS officer holds his tongue as well as he holds a rifle, especially when addressing a senior officer.”

“Yes, sir. Begging your pardon, sir.”

Colonel Napatu sighed and swiveled in his chair for a moment. “All of you sit down. I don’t like you hovering over my desk like that.”

Mazer and the others took a seat in the armchairs and sofa opposite Napatu’s desk.

Napatu put his elbows on his desk and rubbed his eyes, suggesting he was as sleep deprived as the others. “I would love for you all to believe that the SAS is immune to the bureaucratic crap that so plagues the rest of the military,” he said. “And I would love for you to believe that I as the CO of this unit have the authority to tell the defense department where they can stick the asinine orders they so often toss in our laps. But since you all tested so highly for intelligence, you know both statements are false.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Fact is, we are a branch of the NZ military, and when we receive orders we follow them. That is our duty. We do not question them. We do not voice our disapproval. We obey. This business with the HERC came straight from General Gresham. He called me himself two days ago. His orders were clear. Give this Chinese captain and his Juke sales rep a real show. The natural assumption was that I would have you fly the HERC around the tarmac a lap or two. Not so, said the general. I was to coordinate a full heavy-vehicle extraction. Lots of noise, lots of daring piloting, and the two guests of honor were to be waiting inside the Copperhead. That was their explicit request. They didn’t want to observe. They wanted to experience.”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes again. “As you might expect, I expressed my concerns regarding safety and liability. The last thing this country needs is for a Chinese officer to die under our care. That would read just dandily on the news nets. But my objections were ignored. I was to follow orders to the letter. Nor was I to inform the extraction team of the uniqueness of their mission. While I agree that you all took a lot of heat, I was not for a moment concerned. Reinhardt can dance circles around any other pilot in this unit.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“He’s buttering you up so you won’t be mad at him,” said Patu.

“I’m ashamed to admit it’s working,” said Reinhardt.

“What was this about, sir?” asked Mazer. “Why should the SAS be involved in a sale to the Chinese? If Juke wanted to show off the HERC why not do it at their own facilities? Our HERC isn’t the only one in existence. Why bring the Chinese here?”

“Several reasons. One, Juke pilots aren’t nearly as good as you. I’m not buttering you up, that’s simply a fact. Juke knew they’d get a much more dramatic presentation here. Second, the Chinese wanted to see soldiers in action. That’s who will be flying theirs, and they happen to have a lot of respect for the SAS. That is why, in fact, they wanted all of you sleep deprived. They figure a sleep-deprived SAS officer is equal to a well-rested Chinese one.”

Fatani grunted. “Hardly.”

“You’re an exception to any such comparison, Fatani,” said Colonel Napatu. “You’re equal to four Chinese officers. And I don’t mean simply in terms of mass.”

“I can see why the Chinese might like this arrangement,” said Mazer, “but why would the defense department agree to it? Why do a favor for the Chinese? I thought we were hoping to keep this tech proprietary.”

“I asked those same questions. First off, we couldn’t keep the HERC for ourselves even if we wanted to. Juke will sell the tech to whoever will pay for it. The U.S. military is big enough to make stipulations like that to their contractors, but not us. We’re small potatoes. We’ll buy a few dozen HERCs at the most, which is barely enough to break a sweat on the Juke assembly line. China is a big buyer. Juke would hang us out to dry and leave us with nothing if it meant snagging a deal with the Chinese. My point? We never had a chance of keeping this proprietary. As to why we agreed to do the show, it turns out the SAS is getting a few HERCs for free for our troubles.”

Fatani whistled. “For free? Considering the price tag of a HERC is more than the GDP of most third-world countries, I’d say we got a good deal. Not bad for an hour’s worth of work.”

Napatu leaned forward and frowned. “Well, that’s the sour part of this conversation. The Chinese didn’t ask for just a single hour of work.”

“That look on your face makes me think I’m not going to like the next thing out of your mouth,” said Reinhardt.

Mazer thought the same, but he kept quiet.

“The primary reason why we gave a show to the Chinese,” said Napatu, “was because they were testing
you
as much as the HERC.”

“Told you,” said Fatani.

“Testing us for what?” said Patu.

Mazer answered. “The Chinese not only want to purchase a fleet of HERCs, they also want an experienced HERC team to train their pilots how to fly it.”

“Say it ain’t so,” said Reinhardt. “We have to babysit a bunch of Chinese pilots?”

“How many pilots are they sending us?” asked Fatani.

“None,” said Colonel Napatu. “The Chinese aren’t coming here. You’re going to them. Guangdong province. Southeast China. It’ll be a six-month op.”

Nobody spoke. It wasn’t uncommon for an SAS team to be given orders to conduct a joint cooperative engagement training—or JCET—but that didn’t mean everyone was thrilled by the idea.

Sensing disappointment in the others, Mazer said, “It’s China, Reinhardt. They have hair dryers and silk sheets. I think you’ll survive.”

Napatu took a data cube from his desk and offered it to Mazer. “Captain Rackham, you’ll continue as team leader. Your mission objectives are there on the cube. You’ll brief the others on the plane. You fly out at 0900.”

Mazer took the cube, surprised. “
Captain,
sir?”

“You’ve just been promoted. I’m not having some Chinese officer thinking he outranks everyone on your team.”

*   *   *

It was six o’clock in the morning when Mazer left Colonel Napatu’s office and made his way across base toward the motor pool. Three hours. Napatu had given them three hours to arrange their affairs before getting on a plane for an overseas six-month assignment.

This is why it would never work with Kim, he told himself. This is why it was ridiculous to even consider marriage. No relationship can operate this way.

They had never discussed marriage, but Mazer knew Kim was thinking about it as much as he was. It was evident in the little things she did: the way she smiled at any baby they passed in the market, or how she casually mentioned her goals for the future, like how she wanted a bay window in her home when she settled down, or how she would grow her own vegetables when she settled down. That was her phrase: “When I settle down.” It was never “When
we
settle down,” but the subtext was there nonetheless. The implication was obvious. She was putting her toe in the marriage waters and seeing what ripples it produced.

Mazer always responded as if he sensed no subtext at all. They were making conversation, nothing more. Why yes, a bay window would be lovely. But no, gardens were a pain; there were weeds to be pulled and bugs to be sprayed and dirt to be tilled. That was time, and time was money. I’ll
buy
my vegetables, thank you very much.

It was a game they played, a game of compatibility. And the more they played it, the more convinced Mazer became that he would never find a better match.

He woke the officer on duty at the motor pool and checked out a vehicle. The drive from Papakura to East Tamaki was quick, and he parked across the street of Medicus Industries at ten minutes to seven. She would already be up in her office, he knew; she always came in early to get a jump on the day.

He didn’t call her. Instead, he tapped his wrist pad three times to ping her, then he watched her office window on the fifth floor. She appeared a moment later, smiled, and waved him to come up. He walked to the front door, waited for the holo to appear in the box, and typed in the sequence she had taught him. The door opened, and he crossed through the empty lobby to the lifts.

She met him on the fifth floor and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. She looked as beautiful as ever, her hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she worked over her holos all day. “This is a pleasant surprise, Lieutenant,” she said. Her American accent always made him smile.