Meddle Of Honor
Ships had never really been his “thing”.
Spaceships were even worse, but his father had made it clear: join the navy or kiss his inheritance goodbye, so Earl Denver had put his name on the next draft list that he could find. Basic training had been simple enough, with a whole platoon of underpaid officers to bribe for top marks. He hadn't made any friends that way; but being the scrawny rich kid set him apart regardless, and it had been the fastest method to get his posting on the front lines.
Now, watching the earth slip away from his tiny, riveted window, Earl was certain he'd made a terrible mistake. Inheritance be damned – it would do him no good if he wasn't around to spend it.
He rose, stalking the small cabin in a familiar pattern. Forward, left, two rocking steps, then back, right and two steps more. He'd been doing it for years, whenever he found himself in a situation that made him uncomfortable, and he found it calming. Today, it only served to play up the fact that he couldn't move nearly as far or as fast as he wanted to.
A warning klaxon sounded above his head; at least he had managed to get his reaction to that under control after a few days in space. They'd all been forced to endure last-minute sim training on inter-ship maneuvers in case they were boarded, which was unlikely but still possible as they headed toward Vignan space. They were a recon vessel, crammed with half a squad of grunts in case things went sideways, though Earl was fairly certain he'd be part of the problem if something went that way.
The klaxon blared out two longer sounds and a third chirping one; the ship was about to go into lightdrive. Slipping into his bunk, Earl pressed the capsule button and lay back, taking deep breaths of the narcoleptic agent the ship's system began pumping in.
***
All was not well when he woke. Aside from the splitting headache that was common after narco-sleep, there was a sickening feeling of pitch, of the ship going off to the left instead of straight ahead. He lay there for a few moments, trying to figure out if he was just space-crazy or if something odd was really going on, but when he didn't hear the “all clear” four klaxon alarm, he started to get worried. Moving slowly out of his bunk he pulled on his uniform, and holstered his pistol. He wasn't a bad shot, but killing living things wasn't something he was good it, though his sergeants had assured him it would be different with the Vignans, should it be required.
Halfway through lacing up his second boot the klaxon did sound and he breathed a quick sigh of relief as the first three pulses went by. When a fourth pulse didn't follow, Earl felt his blood pressure spike. Surely that had been a mistake – maybe he had miscounted?
The klaxon rang again, three short bursts and then silence.
They were under attack.
Earl was tempted to stay put; by all accounts the Vignans had some concept of the honor of war and if he stripped off his kit and lay in bed they might just pass him by as a coward or a passenger. That was risky, though, since if things turned sour he'd have no way to fight back. He'd be better off with the men, much as they didn't like him. Calling up a scan of the ship's schematics, he plotted the quickest route to the back mess hall doors. The hall was well-positioned to repel an attack; the bridge would automatically seal itself off and the mess had only one entrance the enemy could use – the back door could easily be guarded by two marines with no trouble for as long as the ship was occupied.
Earl had little recollection of the next ten minutes, passing in a blur of dark gray hallways and hastily drawn in breaths. He didn't see a single living thing – human or Vignan - and reached the mess doors with his wits mostly intact.
Three quick raps followed by two shorter ones and repeated twice gained him entry, though from the looks on the faces of the guards they'd been hoping for someone more useful. Sergeant Samuel caught his eye on the way in and pulled him aside, face dark.
“Get your ass on the line, Denver, and stay out of the way of the real soldiers out there. You get me?” Samuel's voice was hard; he was one of the many Earl had bribed, and knew full well how lacking Earl's abilities were.
He nodded and moved to one of the upper tiers of the mess, setting himself apart from the other men there. They had an easy familiarity, a camaraderie he wanted no part of. If he could just get through this, maybe they could limp home to a hero's welcome.
Not likely.
The first attack came ten minutes later, the main doors of the mess blowing off their hinges and a squad of Vignans charging through. He'd seen the vids; they looked like humans but taller, with ears twice as large, noses that were too flat and arms that seemed impossibly long. What he hadn't seen in the vids were just how damn fast they were, how they seemed to flow rather than move, and they easily overwhelmed the first line.
They were cut down, finally, but not before ten men lay dead.
After that, everything was a haze of battle. Earl raised his pistol, he fired it, but didn't know if it worked, if Vignans died to his rounds. Finally, he heard them coming up the stairs, breaching the last bastion of defense. An extraordinarily tall one spotted him alone and move in his direction, a leering smile plastered on his face. The bastards were enjoying this!
Earl stood his ground, pistol drawn, but the alien knocked it away. He tossed a kick at it that was easily blocked and then did the only thing he could think of.
Earl Denver screamed at the top of his lungs.
The creature in front of him howled, covering its ears and dropping to the ground, and several others nearby looked up. Earl grabbed his pistol from the deck, aimed and took the thing right in the eye.
Still screaming, he advanced on the next group, and the marines around him joined in. Mouths open and lungs full, they cleaned the mess up.
***
“It is our great pleasure to present Infantryman First Class Denver with the Crimson Star, in recognition of his significant discovery and meritorious actions in face of death,” the chairman of the Council said, stepping forward to pin the medal on Earl's uniform. In front of him, the crowd erupted in wild cheers, his father standing tall and proud, eyes grave and hands clapping slowly.
Odd – ships had never really been his “thing”.
- D
No comments:
Post a Comment