Grunt Life (27 page)

I tried to interrupt, but he motioned me to silence with his hand.

“There are three types of grunts in this world: leaders, followers, and killers. You don’t want to mix them up. I know you’ve been a leader before, but that was a mistake. Not as if the military had a way to fix it. They like to pretend there’s no such thing as a pure killer. When they find them, they try and get them into special operations. Green Berets. SEALs. Rangers. It gets them away from the others.

“Know how you can always tell a leader who’s really a killer? He always gets his men killed. It’s not like it’s their fault, either. Killers can’t help it. We’ve had them in every war since Gilgamesh was King of Babylon. We
need
killers. They become our heroes.

“But when killers are put in charge, they can’t stop doing what they’re good at. They keep killing, and their grunts follow them. Only the followers aren’t killers; they don’t have the knack or the instinct. So they die.”

I hated Olivares right now, but even as I listened I saw the spark of truth.

“You ever had any of your people die before, Mason?”

“You know the answer.”

“The reason I’m in charge and you’re not is because you are a killer and I’m a leader. The others, they’re followers. OMBRA once thought that maybe Thompson was a killer. I know; the drummer boy as a straight-ass assassin. But they changed their mind. He registered in the gray area.”

“Thompson? A killer? What brainiac had that idea?”

“The same brainiacs who put me in charge of you. The same ones who devised all of those questions we answered during Phase I. It’s the way you answered all of those dumb-as-shit study questions at the end of every book. It’s the way you responded to the surveys after every movie. They have some algorithm where they sucked in your answers and punch out
killer
.”

“But aren’t we all killers?”

“Some of us are better at it than others.” He took a step back and crossed his arms. “Only one of us is the Hero of the Mound. How many people did you bring back with you on those missions, Mason?”

“You better watch it.”

“Where’s MacKenzie? I thought you had his back, Mason.”

“Where were you, Olivares?”

“I left you alone with him. Why’d you let him die, Mason?”

I lashed out without even thinking about it, catching him on the side of his face. He went down and it took everything I had for me not to fall on him and pound the shit out of him. Instead, I stood there, fists balled, fuming.

He sat up and put a hand to the side of his face. “Do you want to know why you’re a corporal and I’m a staff sergeant? Because when I lead everyone into battle, I’m not going to get them killed.” He stood. “I might not be as effective a killer as you. I might not be the Hero of the Mound. But I’m also not going to get people killed.”

As he walked past me, he said, “No hard feelings. No drama. It’s just the way you are. Don’t bother suiting up. You’re going to watch this one from the trenches.”

You come home from school one day to discover that your parents have left a gift for you on the kitchen table. It’s a large box with holes poked into the top. You hear a scratching coming from within. After investigating, you discover a Golden Retriever puppy, all fur and paws and wet mouth. You play with it for awhile. It licks you. You can’t help but love it. Then you see the note. You read it. It says, ‘Mason, dear, if you really love us you’re going to kill the puppy.’ So the question is, how are you going to kill it? Strangle it with your bare hands, or put it back in the box and put the box in the middle of the street and walk away? You decide.

TF OMBRA Personalized

Screening Question

for Staff Sergeant Benjamin Carter Mason

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

M
R.
P
INK TRIED
to calm me down by distracting me with science, but it didn’t help. Still, as my team prepared to conduct the mission without me, perhaps the last mission Romeo Three would ever do, he persisted. I knew what he was doing, but I couldn’t stop him.

“Have you ever wondered why the Cray don’t like to travel at night? No, that’s not the right question... why they are reluctant to do
anything
at night, in the dark, without light, other than a little moon and starlight?”

I shrugged as I stood staring at the wall of plasma monitors in the Tactical Operations Center. Each one was set to a split screen, front and rear display, of the members of the recon teams out in the field—Romeo Nine, Romeo Two and Romeo Three.

Around us, soldiers ranking from private to captain sat monitoring laptops. By their patches, they were headquarters and signal sections. An African-American master sergeant ran in with a piece of paper and began reading coordinates into a head set.

Mr. Pink continued watching the screens. “Phototrophic organisms align themselves to the light to better achieve photosynthesis.”

Two men fussed with a keyboard, connecting and reconnecting the cord to the back of an old hard drive tower. “Are you saying the Cray are like plants?”

Why hadn’t Mr. Pink overruled Olivares? Why wasn’t I outside? I sought Romeo Three’s feeds so I could get a view of Michelle. It took a few moments to get a handle on the shaky images.

“We have no proof of any photosynethetic qualities in the Cray. We believe what we’re seeing is phototaxis, an automatic movement toward light, much like moths. Their response to light is euphoric, akin to drug-induced stimulus. They are hypnotized by light.

“Actually emotional stimulus probably isn’t the right term. The problem is that there’s been very little study regarding phototactic response. Take the fiddler crab, for instance. Are you aware that it aligns itself sideways to light?”

Michelle—I had to stop thinking of her that way—
Aquinas
and Thompson were partnered, while Olivares was partnered with Ohirra. They stood in our usual positions near the trenches, waiting for Romeo Nine to move first.

“One University of Wisconsin study showed that light can be employed to direct the movement of fiddler crabs. They follow a light source anywhere, even if the angle changes sharply.”

It was an infuriatingly one-sided conversation and I was unable to resist an easy smart-assed remark. “Maybe if we had a giant flashlight we could defeat them.”

“We’d need a giant hand for a giant flashlight. Problem is we’re fresh out of giants.” Mr Pink moved to one of the techs and directed her to bring up images of the mound in infrared.

“I’m more inclined to stick with the moth theory, however,” Mr. Pink continued. “Imagine if moths were at the top of the food chain. What sort of offensive and defensive capabilities might they have evolved to get there? Are the Cray affected by starlight? Can they navigate by it?”

“You talk as if they’re not very smart.”

“Do I? Force of habit, I guess. Have you ever wondered why they don’t use more complex tactics when attacking? Maybe they
aren’t
very smart.”

“If they’re not very smart, then how did they get here?”

“Good question, Corporal Mason, but for now”—he pointed towards the screens—“we’re moving.”

Romeo Three was on the move and the Tactical Operations Center became a madhouse as orders were called and returned. I asked for a headset so that I could listen in on the intersquad communications.

Olivares and Ohirra went out first, carrying the sonar between them in a large gator box. Thompson and Aquinas stayed to the left with their own boxes. The idea was for them to remain staggered, keeping at least thirty meters between each group.

To their right, Romeo Two moved in three teams of two.

On the far left, Romeo Nine had already been moving for fifteen minutes. They were to place their units near the rear of the hive and had two Vulcan sleds in support.

Two infantry platoons stood ready to assist, but remained within a hundred meters of our lines. They’d moved into position at the low crawl, their camouflage blending into the Serengeti.

Romeo Three avoided the village. Telemetry had previously detected Cray at that location and Romeo Three decided to give it a wide berth until an infantry company could sweep it clean. They also had to steer clear of the hole created by the previous day’s blast. The extent of damage hadn’t been calculated, but by the bits and pieces of alien littering the plain, it had to have been tremendous. Mr. Pink had mentioned that the special weapons section was working on three more thermobaric bombs, which would be ready in a matter of days.

The Vulcans began to fire and activity in the TOC increased as several officers began yelling. Romeo Two was hit hard by two waves of Cray. Both Vulcan cannons roared, slinging metal-jacketed lead into the air. An entire column of Cray evaporated into mist as they plunged headfirst into the fusillade, but the second column made it through. Romeo Two held their own, using their miniguns to create interlocking fields of fire. More Cray began attacking from above and the Vulcans opened up again.

The ground opened beneath both of the cannons. One minute the gun crews were firing, the next there was a cloud of dust and no more cannons, and Romeo Two suddenly found themselves terribly outnumbered. Two of the six soldiers broke and ran, and were soon hauled into the air by pairs of Cray and dropped from hundreds of feet. I was transfixed by one of the feeds as the ground rushed up to meet the camera. I jumped and a wave of nausea washed over me as the soldier struck earth.

The remaining four members of Romeo Two were fighting back-to-back. They might have made it, had they not run out of ammunition before the Cray ran out of aliens. When the drones descended, it was a maelstrom of hand-to-hand combat; a deadly whirlwind.

A sudden note of concern in Ohirra’s voice caused me to turn and focus on her.

“Look at the ground ahead. Does it look soft?” she said.

Everyone in Romeo Three stopped.

I watched as Olivares zoomed in and ran through the available spectrums, but this revealed little other than a barely discernible change in the color and texture of the ground.

Ten seconds ticked by as he contemplated their next move. Finally he said, “Fall in behind. Minefield rules. One path. Stay in each other’s steps. I’ll go first.”

Thompson and Aquinas did as ordered, carrying the box between then. They concentrated on maintaining their distance, while keeping to the footprints of those in front of them.

I turned back to Romeo Two. Five of their feeds were dead and, as I watched, the sixth went offline.

I checked on Romeo Nine, who were as free and easy as a couple taking a Sunday walk through a city park.

Mr. Pink grabbed a headset. “Romeo Nine, be aware of changes in the sand. There might be spider traps ahead.”

Romeo Nine acknowledged and kept moving. After a moment, they saw them. It looked like the Cray had been busy.

“Freeze,” Olivares commanded.

My gaze swung to his feed. I saw sand, stippled and off-color. I could clearly see regular sand between the suspect areas, becoming narrower further out. What was it?

Then I saw it: a V-shaped ambush straight out of the manual. Wide at the entrance, intended to funnel an opposing force into the kill zone. Once inside the ambush site, it would be impossible to get out unscathed.

“Listen closely,” Olivares ordered. “Target your Hydras and face your quadrant. Aquinas vector left. Ohirra vector right. Thompson vector rear. I’ll take the forward vector. Comply.”

The team all complied, and I saw their weapon statuses change on Olivares’s command screen.

“Listen to me.” Olivares’s voice was slow and steady. If I didn’t know any better, he might have been demonstrating the correct way to break down an M9 pistol instead of preparing everyone for attack. “Carefully lower your cases, then straighten.”

“Mr. Pink, you watching this?” I said.

“We’re on it, son.”

“Listen to me, Romeo Three,” Olivares said. “We’re about to be attacked. No, don’t look around. Remain still. They’re going to come from the ground. I’ve set each of your Hydras on automatic. They will fire when movement is detected. Let them fire. Do not move until all the Hydras are fired.”

“Jesus,” Thompson murmured.

Olivares chuckled. “Jesus was a corpsman, son. He didn’t know shit about being a grunt.”

Damn, but it was true. Olivares was a good leader. I couldn’t help but admire his coolness under stress.

“And Satan was a grunt,” Ohirra said, finishing the old line. “So let’s give them hell, Romeo Three.”

All four gave subdued
huahs
. I gave them one myself.

The TOC’s battle captain shook his head. “They need to move. It’s nothing but sand out there.”

“Nope,” I said. “There’s enemy there. This is an ambush.”

He turned and glared at me for disagreeing with him, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes of the screen.

“And I say it’s nothing, corporal,” he said angrily. “And you will address me as
Captain
.”

Oh, he was one of those.
I wonder if he made his mother call him
Captain
, too.

He turned to Mr. Pink. “We need to get them moving.”

Mr. Pink remained silent. He was chewing on his thumb.

The battle captain grabbed a headset. “This is Captain Gianforte. Get your asses in gear and move out!”

“Get off my net,” Olivares snarled.

“Staff Sergeant Olivares, get moving. We can’t wait on you for long. This is an order.” The captain covered the mike with his hand. “What’s the status on the Howitzer rounds?”

“Waiting for Romeo Three to make Point Bravo.”

The battle captain cursed something in Italian and let go of the mike. “Romeo Three, this is Battle Captain Gianforte, you will do as—”

He never finished. Sand and rock and Cray exploded from the spider holes surrounding the four recon scouts. The Hydras fired, detonating their targets on all sides. The concussion from the explosions buffeted them in their suits, causing the feeds to skip with static. I watched each of the team members’ statuses on Olivares’s feed.