Chapter IX: A Bittersweet Victory
"Hey Bill, how are you?" Jim asked, walking up to Bill's bunk and sitting down on it.
"Not too well. Arm's still feeling pretty bad from the shrapnel." He held up his arm, swathed in bandages, for emphasis.
"Ouch. Heard you got it bad, man."
Bill nodded. "Heavy blood loss, but I'm lucky I didn't get a
vein severed or something. I had to have some tissue grafts done at the med bay."
"Tissue grafts?"
"They take a sample of your tissues, then clone the required replacements in some specialized vat. Then they put it back on you where you're wounded, put some cloned skin over that, wrap it all up, and let you heal naturally. It's supposed to have something like a 99.2% success rate."
Jim whistled. "Glad I didn't have to go through that."
"The op's not bad, it's just the feeling like hell after your arm is shredded that gets to you."
"I'll make a mental note not to ever get hit by an orbital bombardment."
"You do that, Jim."
Jim leaned toward Bill. "So what do you think about the big victory and all?"
Bill shook his head and leaned back. "When you have to slay your own people to slay your enemy, that's no victory."
Jim nodded. "Agreed."
* * *
Bob and Mel stood on the outskirts of the Imperial base, watching the forest around it.
"Is this what you expected when we were first given our draft notice?" Mel asked.
"Certainly not." Bob looked over at Mel. "But your skepticism seems to have been right on the mark."
"Wish it wasn't."
"Sometimes things just aren't as good as you wish they were."
"Too true."
Bob knelt down, picked up a small stone, and tossed it at a small animal scurrying on the ground. "I hate this damn job."
Mel gave him an amused look. "Not even in it for eight months, and you've decided it sucks?"
Bob glared at Mel, half-mockingly. "These eight months haven't exactly endeared me to the idea of being a soldier, you know."
"Nobody asked if you wanted to do it..."
"Correct."
"...but someone has to. If we weren't someone else would."
Bob shook his head. "Is that supposed to make me feel proud, knowing I'm here instead of some other guy?"
"No," Mel said. "I'm just saying we were the ones who just happened to be lucky or unlucky enough to be chosen for the duty."
"How could this-" Bob swept his arm across the base "- be lucky?"
Should any of us do on to glory, it might have been."
"And how do we get to glory?"
"Winning, gaining fame in victory?" Mel shrugged. "Something like that."
Bob snorted. "Winning? Isn't that what we just did? We have to have our hearts torn out, our souls flayed, and our friends killed to gain glory?"
"Usually, winning should make a guy feel good," Mel said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"If this is what winning feels like, I'd hate to know what losing's like."
"It's going to get better than this, Bob. It really is."
Bob looked toward the setting sun and frowned. "Yeah. All I
gotta' do is believe, huh?"
"That, and have a little faith in your friends."
"Friends..." Bob turned around, looking at the base with a feeling of sorrow in his chest. "Friends."
Mel was worried about the way Bob said the word, with no feeling of warmth. But he decided it was best to leave any feelings on the matter alone for the moment. There was plenty enough to worry about right now.
Like what to do after this "victory".
* * *
Sara, Jessy, and Terry sat on a bench in the middle of the Imperial compound, their moods anything but light hearted.
"They called this a victory," Jessy said, "but I sure don't feel like it's a victory."
"Neither do I," Sara replied.
Jessy shook her head, her hair darting out to the sides and back. It's not. This isn't a victory. It's just the destruction of an enemy force."
"Isn't that what 'victory' is?" Terry asked, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
"Not when it comes to losing twice as many soldiers as they did."
"What?" Sara looked incredulous. "How?"
"I did some checking," Jessy answered. "We're the seventh regiment to hit this world, and it took the lives of most of the people in those regiments to get this 'victory'."
"Doesn't sound much like a win to me."
"Neither does slaughtering your own people to get the enemy."
* * *
Becker has told the troops they'd be moving out, and now everyone was in the bunk room loading their stuff up, leaving another world and getting ready to go to another.
Jim sighed. They'd just been told they were a pivotal part in gaining this victory, or the farcical sham of one that passed as winning. And now they were told they were being sent off to another world to repeat the process.
This must be what it truly means to be in the Imperial Guard.
He glanced over at Sara, saw her loading her stuff in bags. She didn't seem any brighter or more cheery than he felt, so he decided to leave her alone for the moment.
As he placed pictures from home in his sack, Jim was reminded of his family. So far away now, and he wasn't even allowed to contact them in any other way but writing. He had no doubt there were people who screened the letters and made sure to censor them.
He found himself briefly wondering what they family would say if they found out he had found himself someone to love, someone to share a bright future with. But just as quickly came doubts, small flashes of another future in which he or Sara was killed by some stray bullet or energy blast, leaving the other alone.
He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. He glanced over at Sara to reassure himself. She caught him looking, and flashed him a smile. He smiled for her in return.
But inside, he felt like doing anything but smiling.
* * *
"Cigarette?"
"Thanks," Paul said, taking the offered cigarette from the soldier. He lit it and inhaled, then slowly let out the breath he'd just drawn it.
Bob shook the other soldiers' hands.
"Pentoran IX, huh?"
"Yep," one of the soldiers said. "We got to this dump just after you guys did."
"Where were you stationed on the planet?"
"Koris Mountains."
"Hell of a ways from where we were."
"We heard," the Pentoran soldier replied. "You boys were down in the
nonw-infamous Valley of Death."
Paul pulled the cigarette out of his mouth for a moment. "Is that what they call that dump now?"
The second Pentoran laughed. "You hadn't heard? You boys are practically famous."
Bob shook his head. "Not the way I'd like to become famous."
"Not any of us," the first Pentoran said. "Just happens, I guess."
Bob closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the vibrations of the troop carrier's engines pass through his body. "I really wish it hadn't. Too many friends down in that valley."
The two Pentorans nodded slowly. The first said, "We didn't have it nearly as bad as you, but we did lose an awful lot of friends. Not to our own fire, of course. That must have made it all that much worse."
Bob shivered for a moment as memories shot through his mind, seeing once again the incoming bombardment, the men being killed by direct hits, the alien bodies being tossed, himself picked up and thrown like a rag doll.
Paul reached out and grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. "You okay there, Bob?"
Bob nodded and gulped. "Yeah, just some bad memories."
Paul nodded. "I think we all have some of those."
The second Pentoran frowned. "Makes it damn hard to sleep at night sometimes."
"That it does," Bob said.
* * *
Mack lay back on his bunk, feeling a bit like a sardine. The bunks on the troop transport were very close together, and layered right on top of each other.
Becker stood in the middle of the room, everyone's attention focused on him. He seemed to have some big news for the platoon soldiers.
"I got some news in today, of a little restructuring that's going on throughout the company. With the losses that we took back on Kolmar, we've got a lot of odd-sized squads and platoons. Fortunately, I suppose, we're not in either category, for the moment. I've been told that, should the squad members agree, some squads can be dissolved and merged with other squads. If there are any takers, let me know. I'll make the proper arrangements.
"Second order of business for the day is the subject of replacements. I know many soldiers are unkind to this notion, but it has to be done. We can't get any in, however, until we reach our destination, which hasn't yet been decided. But it seems that as a gesture of appreciation for the hard work we've done, One Platoon and the rest of the Median IV will be brought back up to full combat readiness as soon as possible. Until then, we're relegated to light patrols and other small missions.
"Third is the issue of all that gear we picked up off the Tau on Kolmar. Some folks grabbed rifles, others armour, and still others grabbed some other gear. We've gotten the official go ahead to use this captured gear, and are also on notice that we can request replacements from the special stock for alien ammunition and such. I was a bit curious about such leniency, so I asked around and found out that the general idea is that this gear should help us perform better in certan environments, and there's no chance of it corrupting anyone.
"Last, but certainly not least, I've received a shipment of special equipment for the platoon. This will be handed out to those who need it. If you received something, I'll let you know. If you don't hear word, then you didn't get anything.
"Any questions? No? Well, that's all. Carry on as you were."
Mel frowned. Certainly a lot to digest.
* * *
Bill smiled up at Becker as he approached, carrying a long black case.
"I take it that's something good for me?"
"You bet it is," Becker said, setting the case down by Bill's bed. "Give it a look."
Bill picked up the case and opened the snaplocks on each end of it. He lifted the top and nearly dropped the case in surprise when he saw what was inside.
"H-how did I get a sniper rifle?" he asked, pulling the long, sleek rifle from its case.
Becker
smiled. "Your skills with a gun are legendary. Someone heard you were pretty good at distance firing, they decided to send you something to use for it that would be a lot better than an autorifle."
"Oh, man, this is just great. Ammo?"
"Plenty."
"Oh, thank you, Dennis! I'm going to love this thing. Just let me get a position and I'll drop any aliens that try messing with us from a mile away." Bill put his eye to the scope, holding the gun up as if he was sighting an enemy.
Becker reached out and slapped his shoulder. "Have fun with it."
* * *
Bill squeezed the trigger and sent another shot slamming into the simulated heart of the target, scoring another kill shot with his rifle.
To his sides, he heard heavy chattering and whines.
He looked over at Bob, who was doing target practice with his now heavily modified autorifle. The rifle had been modified to carry heavier ammunition and fire at a longer range. The barrel was now a bit longer, and the ammunition clip slapped in it was considerably larger than normal. As he fired, the rifle let out an angry chatter that echoed through the chamber. The target, a silhouette of a humanoid, was the victim of the weapon's attentions, being severely disfigured with every burst of fire.
"Pretty good mods," Bill commented.
"Thanks," Bob replied. "I got in a kit from the depot that makes modifying this thing a breeze. It not fires thirty percent farther, and can carry twelve millimeter slugs."
Bill stepped back, surprised. "How the hell did you do that?"
Bob smiled. "Opened up the loading and firing chamber a good bit. Totally recreated the inner mechanisms. Just some good home brew gun mods going on, that's all."
"That's some pretty heavy stuff."
"Meant to be. I don't want to find myself unable to get through an alien's armour ever again."
"Speaking of which, you still got that armour?"
"Sure," Bob answered. "And I'm cleared to use it. Even got a translation package for the helmet."
"Wow."
Mel walked over, brandishing his pulse rifle. "Hey, how can you guys be having a discussion of weapons without including mine?"
Bob laughed. "That thing? Can't forget it. That distinctive little whine it gives off when it fires. I still can't shake the feeling of dread I got when I started hearing those things rapidly firing."
"That's what I like about it. The feeling it induces in its target."
Bill looked around at the three weapons. "Looks like we've all got our own special weapons."
"Yeah," Bob replied, "and we'll get our chance to use them to do in some aliens before they have a chance to do us in, soon enough."
* * *
Becker stood in the middle of the assembled soldiers once again, this time looking
noticeably down.
"I've just gotten word that we've arrived at our next warzone. No warning, just. 'Hey, you're there.'
"The world we are about to land on is Ducal. Lots of forest, lots of industrialization. Not much else, except water. So the environment will be pretty much the same, except now we face the very real possibility of having to fight in an urban battle field.
"The enemy I'm told we'll be facing are the Eldar. I've been forwarded a copy of the field notes on the Eldar, and I'll be providing each of you with a copy of them. I want you to study them as religiously as you would the Imperial Texts. They will keep you alive."
Becker lowered his head, closing his eyes for a moment. Sara briefly wondered what he might be thinking. Then he raised his head again, his eyes open.
"Good luck, and good hunting to all of you. Get your gear ready. We drop in an hour."
With that, he retreated to his quarters.
Sara looked over at Jim. "Switching living quarters again."
"And swapping Tau for Eldar," Jim added.
"That, too. Have you heard anything about them?"
"Not much. I've heard their weapons are nasty, but they don't have the best range. Trick is to try to stay out of their range and outmaneuver them. Hard to do, since they've got really fast grav tanks."
Sara thought about that for a moment, while packing her gear in her sack. Then she looked up.
"Do you think we can beat them?"
"The so-called 'ghost warriors' who are too fleet footed to catch?" Jim asked. He nodded. "Yeah. I think we can."
Sara noticed not a bit of sarcasm in Jim's voice, and for some reason that made the words even more reassuring to her.
* * *
Bill looked over at Bob and exclaimed cheerfully, "Going to war again!"
Bob glared. "Don't tell me you enjoy this."
"What? Of course not. I was being a bit sarcastic with my tone."
"Oh. Right," Bob replied. "Sorry, I'm just a bit on edge right now."
"I understand. Being sent out so shortly to fight again. Not even enough time to celebrate our 'victory'."
"Let's just hope we get to celebrate a real victory after this."
Bill nodded. "After we put the fear of the Emperor into these aliens with our weapons."
Bob looked over at Bill. "Have you studied the dossier yet?"
"No time yet, but I thought it'd make interesting reading material on the way down."
"I'll wait, I've got enough trouble holding down the contents of my stomach, I don't need help bringing them up."
Bill laughed. "I doubt it's that bad."
Bob shrugged. "I've heard bad things about the Eldar. Their weapons, firing razor-sharp discs. And their speed. Not to mention those horrible anti-gravity tanks they've got."
"Nothing that can't be beaten with a little bit of faith."
"My faith is my armour and all that?" Bob said, half-grinning.
"Yeah, sure. Why not believe it?"
Bob shrugged. "Who knows?" He looked past Bill's shoulder for a second. "Ah, Bill - company for you."
Bill turned to see Lisa approaching. "How you doing?" he asked.
She frowned. "All the pain from that hit I took's gone."
"But?"
"I'm not hot on the idea of going into combat so soon again."
"I understand. I'm not either."
"But we have to do it, right?"
Bill nodded. "Right."
Lisa lowered her head. "Maybe I'm just afraid."
Bill put his sacks on the floor and reached out to embrace Lisa in his arms. "There's nothing to be afraid of. We're all looking out for each other, now more than ever. You have nothing to fear."
She looked up, tears running down her face. "I can't help this feeling inside, Bill, like something bad is going to happen."
Bill shook his head, about to reply, but an announcement that it was time to load up came over the loudspeakers, drowning out any conversation in the hangar.
And after a moment, Bill realized, there was probably nothing he could say to make her feel better anyway. Especially since her fears only mirrored his own.
END CHAPTER IX
Continued in Chapter X: A New Kind of Foe
|
