Grunt Life (25 page)

Almost.

For funerals where there is a separate firing party, once the casket is borne between the firing party members, and taken into the chapel, the NCOIC commands
Order ARMS
. The firing party departs under the control of the firing party commander and travels to the gravesite. Once at the gravesite, the firing party makes preparations for the gravesite ceremony. The bugler, if not already at the gravesite, travels with the firing party.

U.S. Army Training Circular 3-21.5

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

M
AC
K
ENZIE’S DEATH HIT
me hard. It wasn’t like D’Ambrosio or the others. With them I’d felt a sense of helplessness, unable to change a course of events that began when God woke up and decided we were going to have a bad day. This was different. For one, I hadn’t been in charge of the mission. The orders hadn’t flown through me. I was a mere grunt, just as MacKenzie had been. In fact, we shouldn’t have been there. The mission should have been over. Had we not gone back, we’d have been safe, watching the effects of the explosion in plasma TV clarity.

Being a leader, I was alone in my decisions and removed, to some degree, from the deaths of my soldiers. Where before I’d been someone to blame, now I was someone who wanted to blame someone. Sure, it could have been anyone who’d died. Sure, we could have lost someone sooner. Sure. Sure. Sure. But none of those things mattered. MacKenzie was my friend and I didn’t want him to be dead. The truth of it was that I’d have traded any one of the grunts I didn’t know just so the smiling Scotsman could still be alive. I’d even play Poof with him, whatever that was.

We’d brought him in two hours before. His body had ended up a mile from the trenches. The Cray were too busy taking care of their own dead to care about us anyway.

We laid MacKenzie out on the bench in the middle of the squad bay and gently removed the suit, careful of the damage that had been done. Even with the EXO’s protection, he’d been dropped from such a great height that his insides had liquefied. The bones in his legs had shattered so completely that his limbs were like rubber.

Even with all of this damage, however, his face remained virtually unscathed. I could almost picture him waking up and calling us a
bunch of focking wankers
for acting all weepy-eyed. I knew he wouldn’t have wanted this impromptu wake, but it was more about us than him.

I caught myself staring at Olivares during our vigil. He waited until we’d finished attending to MacKenzie’s body and after the surgeon had removed him before saying anything to me about it.

I’d cleaned up and was getting ready to change back into my fatigues when he sat next to me on the bench.

“He was a good grunt,” he said.

“That he was.” I pulled my socks on, then my pants.

“We’ve all lost friends.”

I pulled on a t-shirt, tucked it in, then buttoned up my top while I thought about what I was going to say. I could get angry, but what would be the point? We were the ones who had fucked up. MacKenzie and I had chosen to go on our own and disobey an order. I grudgingly acknowledged that with a shake of my head and the words, “It was nothing you did, Sarge. It was just stupid-ass bad luck, is all.”

I could feel him watching me as I pulled my boots on and laced them up.

“That’s what war is.” He stood up. “One stupid never-ending piece of bad luck.” He headed towards the door, then paused. “We have a meeting in thirty minutes, and then your time is your own for the next eight hours. At tonight’s memorial we’ll read MacKenzie’s honors. You going to be there?”

I nodded, not sure if I could actually speak.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod back. Then he turned and left.

I slammed my fist into the wall locker and left it there, embedded in the thin metal. Finally, I wiped away the wetness that had somehow appeared on my face and slid on my dog tags. I was about to head out for something to eat when my gaze was drawn by something playing on the television.

They were replaying the mission. The screen showed me beating the Cray to death with its own arm. I sat down and waited for it to end, knowing it would soon start to replay from the beginning. Like old TV shows, you could count on it starting over again. I could see MacKenzie. I could see him smile. Then I could see him die.

Again and again and again.

Ten minutes later I walked out, the bench only slightly worse for wear from where I’d used it to bash in the screen.

I ignored the looks from the others. I was in my own world, my own Hollywood blockbuster, one in which me and Romeo Three existed and everyone else was an extra. Everyone knew extras didn’t talk, so I didn’t talk to them.

I sat at an empty table with three bottles of water and a cup of coffee. Three people came by to talk to me. I ignored them all. It wasn’t until the fourth that I even looked up.

Aquinas dropped a note on the table and kept going. I watched her leave, wondering what that was all about. I opened the paper, feeling a little like I was back in high school, although I reminded myself that back then I never would have gotten close to a girl like her. I turned it several times before I realized that it was a map of the base. On it was an X. The only other directions were the words
After the Meeting!

I suddenly realized I was late for the briefing. I shoved the note in my pocket, slugged back the now-lukewarm coffee, and took the bottles of water with me. I hurried, but I didn’t run. I entered the room with my head down, aware of the eyes that turned towards me. I didn’t want any more attention. I really just wanted to get this over with so I could get some rack time.

“Thanks for joining us, Mason,” said a voice I knew. “I was wondering if you were feeling up to this.”

Mr. Pink was back. His was the voice I’d heard on the comms. Now he stood in front of me, looking more like his namesake every day. His face was haggard and wan, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He wore fatigue pants and boots with a tucked-in black TF OMBRA polo shirt. A red beret with the TF insignia finished the look.

I felt an unusual sense of pleasure at seeing him standing before the row of tables. I could trace many of my worst moments to this man, but we had history, and in the military, this was something akin to brotherhood.

Instead of saying anything, I merely nodded, sharing the briefest eye contact.

The rest of Romeo Three were already present and seated. Behind Mr. Pink were two large maps and a blown-up panoramic photo. The photo was a triptych of the side view of the mound, taken from three different angles. One of the maps was a pre-invasion satellite representation of the area without the hive, but with curious blotches running from white to red. The second map was a wire diagram and could have been anything.

“As I was saying,” he resumed, nodding politely in my direction, “You’re not the first squad I’m giving this briefing to. We’ve learned a lot in the last few weeks.” He went to the satellite map and began pointing to the mysterious blobs.

“This is a pre-invasion photo. These heat overlays show us pockets of lava beneath Kilimanjaro and this plain. It’s what geologists call a stratovolcano. Kilimanjaro consists of three cones. Two of them, Shira and Mawenzi, are extinct, but the third, Kibo, is merely dormant. Fumaroles in its crater still emit volcanic gasses; these are deadly and contain vaporized sulfuric acid, so even getting near it will kill you.

“Add to that the fact that Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa. It’s just shy of six thousand meters above sea level and topped with an ice cap. Thanks to intense study, we not only have maps of the dormant cones, but also of the Kibo caldera, although it’s filled with a pile of volcanic ash to an unknown depth.”

Olivares raised a hand. “We appreciate the geology lesson, Captain Science, but what does it have to do with us? We’re grunts, not geologists.”

Mr. Pink nodded and continued, undeterred. He moved to the panoramic photo. “This is a triptych of the outside of the mound. As you can see, we’ve done little damage to it. We’ve detected traces of crystallized iridium from the mound’s surface, which is probably the reason for its almost impenetrable hardness. Note that our highly-skilled artillerymen have been trying desperately to get a shot into one of these launch tubes, but so far they are 0 and 724 and the chances don’t look like it will get any better.”

“What are they doing under there?” Thompson asked.

“Million-dollar question. We don’t know, and we need to. This is one of the smallest hives on the planet and it’s in the middle of nowhere. So why have it here? What makes it so important? Why have the mounds at all?”

“Maybe because we’d beat them in straight combat,” Ohirra said, a look of pride on her face.

“You say that now.” Mr. Pink smiled. “But that’s because of TF OMBRA’s suits. BCT OMBRA has them, but hardly anyone else does. Since before the invasion we were in negotiations with most major powers—we even made a presentation before the United Nations—but no one wanted to invest the money or pay the subscription for service.”

“Do you mean you charged for them?” Thompson sounded shocked.

“We’re a corporation, Private Thompson, not a charity. We spent hundreds of billions preparing for this event. Far more, I might add, than the entirety of the world’s governments. It’s only right we should be paid.” He smiled. “We repeatedly offered payment plans, but now that there is effectively no such thing as an economy we’ve begun negotiating in land and mineral rights.”

Olivares scowled. “Sounds like blackmail to me.”

“Is it?” Mr. Pink crossed his arms. “Is it blackmail when you warn the world that something is coming? Is it blackmail when you recommend they should engage in some sort of unified response? We warned them this was coming. We offered them assistance. Now that it’s a bald fact that they failed to handle the situation, we offer again, but from a more solid negotiating position. This isn’t blackmail. This isn’t even an
I told you so
. This is business. If we spend money, we have to recoup somehow.”

I had to speak up. “If our situation is so dire, then why not do it for free? I’m sure you’ll be rewarded.”

“Corporal Mason... Always the romantic. When we finally push the Cray off our planet, this isn’t going to be like the final scene in
Return of the Jedi
. There will be no parades. There won’t be anyone left to give out awards. The governments have fucked it all up and won’t be in charge anymore. OMBRA, and dozens of other corporations which have formed since first detection of the pending attack, will become the world’s governments.”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” I mumbled.

“No, it doesn’t. Blame your congress for not being able to get out of their own way long enough to save the planet. It’s not like they haven’t been doing this sort of thing for decades. Blame the world leaders. Blame anyone. But don’t blame the people who
told
everyone there was going to be an invasion. When this is all over, and I have no doubt that we will win the day, we’re going to have two choices as a species. Start from scratch and huddle around our fires, or have leaders ready to stand up and lead. You can’t count on your governments, but you can count on OMBRA. We have underground bunkers, like the one you all were in during training, filled with scientists and academicians ready to confront the problem and get our planet back on track. Should we be rewarded for that? For being ready to help?” He paused. “I think so. Daring plans and sacrifice should always be rewarded.”

“Okay. I got it, Mr. Pink,” Olivares said. “Thanks for your views on the economy and the state of planetary ignorance which preceded the coming of the Cray. But we’ve
been
invaded. We’ve had our asses kicked. Most of our great array of weapons don’t work anymore and here you are talking smack about how OMBRA is going to rule the world one day, but you can’t even seem to break into the smallest alien termite mound on the planet. I’m hoping you have a plan.”

Mr. Pink stared at Olivares for a moment. All of us wondered if he was going to get mad, but then he broke into a smile. “Very eloquently said, Sergeant Olivares. Very eloquent, indeed. We do have a plan. We have several, as a matter of fact.” He began pacing. “Back to the question Private Thompson asked. What
are
they doing under there? Why the mounds?”

We all waited.

Mr. Pink pressed a button and a projector blossomed light from the ceiling. He pulled down a screen and a view of Earth began to rotate on the blank white surface.

“We understood why the aliens would set down in the cities. This is a battle for conquest. They had to be where the people were.” Red spots began to appear on Earth. “These are all of the population areas which have been attacked.”

There were hundreds; I never knew it was so many.

“Now let’s look at the less-populated areas.”

Seven white spots appeared, all within twenty degrees of the equator. The Gobi Desert. The Australian Outback. Kilimanjaro. Mount Ararat in Turkey. Texas. Hilo Island. Venezuela.

“In five months Earth is going to be in aphelion.” He pressed a button and the view changed to a wire diagram of the galaxy. A pulsating blue spot appeared. “This is the destination of the pre-invasion communications. It’s presumably either the Cray’s home planet or a world which they had already taken over and used as a staging post. In five months, the plains of Kilimanjaro will be in a prime spot to communicate with this location, as far as possible from the sun’s radiation, at the perfect angle of declination. We believe it’s been placed here as some sort of communication node.”

“What about the other six locations?” Aquinas asked.

“The angle won’t be right for accurate and effective communication from these sites.”

“But doesn’t the Earth turn on its axis every day? What about the... er... wobble?” I remembered something about the Earth not rotating exactly perfectly each time.

“If you’re speaking of the Chandler Wobble, then that was taken into account, yes.” Seeing our concern, he said, “This is classified above your pay grades, but know that we have other forces in place to deal with the others.”