Infinity Squad (11 page)

"I said it would buy us a few days, not forever. Now come on, let's go see what Grimmy found out."

We headed back to our barracks with purpose. We had forged an eye in the hurricane, but just barely. The General had his skulls. Ann-Marie promised she'd be up and running in a few days. I'd have to watch Zazlu tonight, but he looked like he was handling death well enough for now. The note would have the torture geeks cross-referencing manuals for days before confronting Oakley, which was enough time to figure out if we owed Three-Spot anything beyond a painless death. And if Grimstone had found something definitive about how Ridley had died, we had a little time to act on it before something else came out of the blue and-

"What the hell are you doing, Grimstone?" I demanded after opening the barracks door. Our tech geek was on the ground, doing push-up after push-up with shaking arms. As was the rest of the squad. Even Steve was in his wheelchair next to them, doing chair dips and breaking a sweat. "Why the hell aren't you working on-"

I stopped when I noticed the squat, muscular, black man in the room, holding a whistle and smiling as his bald head shone under the lights.

"Well, Lieutenant Forrest, thank you for joining us," he said, smiles creasing his forty-five year-old face. "My name is Sergeant Major Hughes. And I believe you owe me some push ups."

***

Chapter Five

Military rank is a funny thing. On the one hand, a twenty-something Second Lieutenant straight out of Academy could order a Staff Sergeant with ten combat tours to Pickett's Charge a line of machine guns, and the Sergeant would have to go. That was set into the iron rules of the military all the way back from the days when it mattered what family you were born into, and whether you had been "enlisted" to serve or "commissioned" to serve.

On the other hand, a private with an MP band on his arm could order a two-star General to drop to the floor at rifle point, if the MP was guarding nuclear weapons and the General just "had" to see what one looked like. And any court martial in the world would rule in favor of the enlisted MP, even if he had to put a bullet in the commissioned General to stop him.

By combat experience and years in service, Hughes should have been my superior. Because I had gone to Officer Candidate School and he hadn't, I was technically his. But all that mattered was the "dotted line" Oakley had drawn on the org chart making Sergeant Major Hughes "Director of Personnel Improvement", above every human on the planet except Oakley himself.

And so I got to enjoy doing some push ups with SMaj Hughes.

"Come ON Lieutenant Forrest!" he drawl-yelled at me somewhere around our hundredth push up. He was setting the pace, doing form-perfect pushups with his face inches in front of mine and managing to yell at the same time. "You can do better than THAT! Don't linger on the ground!" He stood up, placing his perfectly polished combat boots under my face so my nose brushed his laces with each push-up.

"All of you can!" he yelled to the others. "Look at these wiry bodies! Sack up Moooohammmed! You look like you never lifted a weight in your entire life!"

Only my stern look prevented Zazlu, who had lifted weights since he was thirteen, from taking his new 'wiry' body and breaking the Sergeant Major in half.

"SIR YES, SIR!" Zazlu spat instead, still doing push-ups next to me.

"Yes, I do love push-ups," Hughes mused as we worked. "You can learn a lot about a soldier's guts by how he pushes. But you know where you can learn more? SQUAD- AT EASE!"

We all collapsed to the floor.

"But the best place to see what a soldier is made of?" he said, smiling at us. "On a run."

We ran inside the twenty-foot high base security wall, all around the steel buildings which were the base proper, then around the scorching blacktop of the flightline, then headed out towards the fields civilians would soon be plowing in the protected lee of the base.

Ann-Marie and Steve rolled right along besides us during the paved parts. It wasn't any easier on them, really. Butcher could run for miles, but her arms weren't built for that level of effort. And Steve's swollen leg made him wince with each bump in the pavement. And when we hit the end of the road, I almost expected Hughes to order them to heal themselves and start running. Which would have led to words between us.

But Hughes ordered the two to do laps around the flightline until we returned, then led the rest of us into the cleared fields at a punishing gallop. For a stocky bastard, he could sure run.

We crossed rocky fields and streams, never slowing from our pace. We were outside the security wall but inside a ten-foot high barbed wire fence. This area wasn't actively patrolled yet and if any spider, snake, or thunder bee decided to hop the fence, we had only our sidearms to protect us. I noticed all my boys were also wearing their buffering bands. Hughes was not.

We went up rolling hills covered in soft grass with empty steel houses already standing on bulldozed lots of rich, black soil. The wind gently stirred the grass and past the cliff that bordered the farmlands on one side, you could see for miles and miles. Beautiful farming country, really. If we could protect it.

"Yes, a long run," Hughes said after two miles. "That's where you learn about your men, Lieutenant. What they're made of."

"Sir, yes sir," I panted next to him.

"See, a run, it's just mind over matter because- ARE YOU TIRED ALREADY LIEUTENANT?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"Good," he said, picking up the pace even more.

The privates were starting to fall out, and I was struggling too. Grimstone was dead on his feet. Zazlu had started the run taking steps sized for his old body, but now matched my long gait. But he was going to fade soon. Juan was sucking air too.

"Yes, it's just mind over matter," Hughes said when we caught him again. "Did you know what a Ranger in a cloned body just broke the three-minute mile? A body just like yours! Those clones were made to run- you have no excuse!"

He started pulling away from me and I sprinted to catch up.

"Of course, the Ranger died soon afterwards," Hughes continued when I pulled next to him again. "But that's what cloned bodies are for, aren't they?"

He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of a wide, terraced field. We fell out around him, hands on our knees and sucking air. Hughes breathed deeply as if enjoying the smell, then looked at us.

"The Army is discipline," he stated. "Running is discipline. Ergo, all of you and I will make this same run every time General Oakley informs me you have committed a breach of discipline."

He stretched, then turned back towards the base. "You have twenty minutes to make it back to your barracks. If any of you are late, ALL OF YOU WILL MAKE THIS RUN AGAIN TODAY! DISMISSED!"

And he sprinted off ahead of us, while we coughed and stood panting in the field.

It had taken us twenty minutes to get from our barracks to that farthest point, and the sun only seemed hotter on the return. But with a Second Lieutenant's light, loving touch, Zazlu kicked the privates' asses all the way back to the edge of the pavement where we met back up with Butcher and Steve.

Grimstone and cocaine private were about dead, so we put a blushing Grimstone on Ann-Marie's lap and a protesting cocaine private on Steve's, and then had Zazlu and Juan push the wheelchairs back across the flightline, leaning on the handles to rest as they ran. I ran ahead looking for Hughes, and had the squad 'dismount' as we came in range of the security cameras, then we all hustled back inside.

Hughes was at our barracks door, checking us off as we came through. I let the squad file in first but waited in the hall myself. Hughes' eyes narrowed and he looked at his watch as I checked the twenty-minute timer I had set on mine. And walked across the threshold with one second to spare.

"Very good, Lieutenant," Hughes scowled. "I had expected to be running with you again today, but maybe your squad is more
disciplined
than their leadership seems to be."

"Sir, yes sir," I purred. Sweat may have been dripping down my back and pouring down my forehead, but I wasn't going to let this sadist see me panic.

He grinned and pulled an envelope from his thigh pocket, then handed it to me. "Therefore, by order of General Oakley, you are hereby returned to active patrol rotation. Take everyone not in a wheelchair. Your helos leave in ten minutes."

I snatched the orders from his hand without even reading them. "Sir, absolutely not. You just ran us into the ground for 'training' and I will not put my squad into the field without-"

Hughes pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and hit the talk button casually. "General Oakley, what would you tell a squad leader who refuses to deploy his unit after the required notice?"

"Every unit in my command must be willing to fight on ten minute's warning!" Oakley's voice yelled through the radio. "The spiders won't give us hours to prepare! We must be ready to fight at all times, no matter what! Is it that fucking Forrest giving you trouble again-" Hughes shut the radio off, smiling.

"Nine and a half," he said.

"You are FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Zazlu yelled, sitting on the floor and reading the op sheet as Butcher poured cold water on his head. "A search and destroy?!?! NOW?"

Ann-Marie took the papers from him before they got soaked and scanned them. "It's in the deepest part of the Hell-Spider territory, too. We're sure to have contact."

"I know, I know," I said, stuffing my pockets with energy bars. Then I started stuffing each private's pockets, too. They were going to need the calories, and they could eat them on the helo.

"So what should we do?" Zazlu demanded. "We're not going on this mission, right?"

There was something in his tone that should have set alarm bells off in my head. Something I had never heard from Zazlu before. Not just questioning, but almost petulant. He was close to breaking. I knelt close to him.

"We can do this, Zaz. And it's not like I can appeal the order to anyone who cares. But we've still got a few minutes. If we can just get in to see Three-Spot before we-"

"He's... coming," Grimstone croaked from his bunk, where he was all but dead from exhaustion. Hughes opened our door again seconds later.

"Change of plans," the Sergeant Major said with a smile. "Your helos leave now. Come with me."

Calm
, I thought.
Search for calm
. I tried to calm myself as Hughes led us to the armory where Zazlu distributed rifles and body armor to us. It was the only chance we had.

Three-Spot, I need you to hear me. Now. We're being sent on patrol again. Near the caves in the valley. You have to tell your clan: do not attack us. Tell them.

"Stop daydreaming, Lieutenant!" Hughes barked, slapping an automatic rifle against my chest. "You're about to lead troops into battle! Or are you unable to?"

"Sir, no sir," I growled. Last thing I needed was to have the short fucker replace me with someone from Immortal Squad. Hughes would have been my height, back in my birth body, but I actually enjoyed looking down on the bastard now. We would beat him yet. He hustled us off to the flightline.

Three-Spot, I need you to hear me!

Zazlu motioned to the Hangar master behind Hughes' back and she lined Jinx up to be our lead pilot again. But I barely noticed because I was praying to Three-Spot the entire time. And I hadn't gotten a response.

"The General expects five confirmed kills this mission," Hughes yelled at us as Jinx spun the rotors up. "Or else you and I will start training together
every day
. And just to ensure that there are no breaches in discipline, I will be listening to your implant chatter." He smiled and shook his walkie-talkie at me, then ordered Grimstone to tie it into our squad comms. Grimmy gave me a look, I had no choice but to nod, and he did.

"Check, check," I said into the mike on my chest armor, and Grimstone gave me a thumbs up. So did Hughes, the walkie-talkie pressed to his ear. Then we boarded the choppers.

Jinx flew the right path this time, the actual listed flight plan around the Night Hunting Grounds and towards the valley where all the Hell-Spiders lived. An auto-piloted chopper followed us with the rest of the privates. As our base faded out of view I stopped praying to Three-Spot. I had to prepare the squad.

Zazlu was eating his energy bar angrily, but he was in the field now. He was pissed, but he would get done anything I asked of him. Juan was draining his second bottle of Gatorade and cocking and re-cocking the grenade launcher he was pointing out the open side of the chopper. His finger danced around the trigger, but he was okay too. And Grimstone had at least been on a few patrols with us before.

But drunk private- shit, what was his real name again... Telson, he was shaking like a whore in church. And cocaine private Harper was shaking like a minister at a Boy Scout meeting. This was their first real action, ever. And neither they nor the other privates knew anything about our deal with Three-Spot.