The Mighty First, Episode 2 Read online

  A fat, yellow, full moon hung low on the horizon, swollen in the distortion of the atmosphere, so that it appeared much larger than it actually was. The sky was still aglow with the last of the setting sun’s pastel-hued light, creating a photo-perfect view. A cool breeze softly caressed their skin, chasing the day’s heat away.

  While the group of friends enjoyed the peaceful evening, the drone circled silently above, always watching. It was not only the legions of loyal GNN viewers that observed their shared

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  honeymoon. The feed was broadcast to all receivers, whether they belonged to the civilian populace or those of the military, galaxy-wide.

  From his apartment in Indianapolis, Storian Emperor Grozet watched this as well, writhing with barely contained anger. Over-Marshal Garrow sat across from him, nursing a mug of hot tea.

  “How feasible is this idea of yours?” Grozet asked through gritted teeth.

  Garrow stared into his tea,” There are no guarantees, as this is a new technology stolen from the Attayans, but I feel it is worth a try. Even if it fails, the very idea of it will cause much fear among the Allied commanders. It will create distrust among their own people. The impact on their morale will be beneficial.”

  Grozet nodded, “Then do it. Tonight.”

  Garrow sat his mug down on the coffee table and stood, bowing respectfully, then dismissed himself. Out in the hall, he took out his pocket phone and touched a contact number. The recipient answered on the first ring.

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  “Begin the procedure,” Garrow said in his native tongue. “I’m on my way.”

  XXXXX

  In a secured surgical theatre inside the city hospital, a trio of Storian surgeons stood over a stainless steel table, making final preparations to carry out their orders. Lying face-down on the table was a middle-aged Terran male, covered in sterile sheets with the exception of the small of his back.

  “This will feel cold,” one of the doctors warned the man, just before applying a liquid disinfectant. The man shivered, but did not complain.

  The door to the room opened and Garrow entered, moving to the head of the table, looking down at the man who called himself Jeff. Their eyes met and Garrow managed a smile.

  “I appreciate your cooperation with this,” the over-marshal told him. This was the opinion that he voiced, but inwardly, he was disgusted. A traitor in any form was still a traitor. Even if

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  it was to his own advantage, to deal with someone of such low standard was difficult to do.

  Jeff smiled proudly, “Yours is the superior race!” He stated with fanatical fervor, “It is my honor to serve your will!”

  “You understand that this procedure might kill you, “Garrow warned. “If it doesn’t, the very act of carrying out this mission will ultimately result in your death.”

  Jeff nodded, “I understand.”

  Garrow looked at the head surgeon, who was waiting for his cue. A curt nod told him it was time. The surgeon used a spray bottle to apply a strong local numbing agent, then held his hand out for the needle. His assistant handed it to him, a frighteningly long, narrow injector that was designed to fit in between the vertebra. He eased it into the man’s flesh a little at a time, giving small amounts of more numbing solution.

  “Do you feel any pain?” The doctor asked in English.

  Jeff shook his head no, “Just a little pressure. It actually kind of tickles”

  The doctor removed the needle and sat it down on a tray,

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  motioning for the Device. The third doctor opened a sterile-sealed container and took an inch-by-half-an-inch thin computer chip from it. Using surgical tweezers, he held it just above the man’s exposed back. The warmth of his body triggered the nano-bots within the Device, and they reacted by extending hair-thin feelers from the bottom of the chip, wiggling with a nauseating urgency.

  He gently sat the Device down over the spine and the hairs dug into the flesh, extending down into the spine though the cervical gap, and finally penetrating the spinal cord.

  Jeff spasmed once, going rigid as the nano-chip merged itself with his nervous system, becoming a shared-entity within his brain. It felt its way along the nerve paths in his limbs, becoming one with him as a demon might possess a human. His body relaxed and he let out a breath, his eyes glazing over as the Device flooded the pleasure center of his brain in part of the process of merging.

  The surgeons monitored him for a few minutes, then nodded approval to Garrow.

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  “I feared that the neuro-Device would kill him,” the doctor said, checking the man’s pulse. “It’s never been applied to an Earth-dweller before. These Terrans’ anatomy, while identical to our own, still has wide variances in neurological regions.”

  Garrow studied the Device where it was visible, now embedded above the spine, “Will his body try to reject it?”

  The surgeon shook his head, “No, the nano-bots have fooled his system into believing it is part of him. Trying to remove it will certainly result in death.”

  The over-marshal checked his watch, frowning at how quickly the time seemed to escape him, “Begin programming his mission perimeters, then. Grozet wants him out in the field as soon as possible.”

  The head surgeon motioned for his assistants to bring the computer terminal so that they could initiate the interface with the stolen Attayan technology.

  XXXXX

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  Three

  School of Hard Knocks

  July 27th

  The two weeks in Winslow had done much to heal some of the emotional wounds that the kids had endured, and it also served to bond them even closer together. Ford felt more protective than ever of his charges, and was inwardly steeling himself with facing their possible future demise. If there was one guarantee in a war, it was that there were no guarantees in a war. They might all live to see its end, and it was just as probable that none of them would.

  Minerva had cherished her visit with her parents, and was prepared to see the end of her vacation feeling more an adult than she ever had. There was a profoundness in knowing that she had accomplished so much in so short a time. She was a Global Marine, a master sergeant, and now a married woman. For the first time since leaving home, the bewildering changes over the

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  course of the past year had solidified into her new reality, and she felt a sense of pride that gave her a new-found inner strength and confidence.

  Cleo and Andrea had reunited with their daughter and gained a son-in-law. They watched their baby drive away with her friends, heading back to the Army depot to turn in the van and catch their flight back to Pennsylvania with great reservation. It was wonderful knowing that she was safe, but horrifying to realize that she was soon going to be back in harm’s way. They prayed that she would be alright.

  There was no way of ever knowing that things were on the verge of taking a horrible turn for the worse, both in the combat zone and in the free parts of the world.

  XXXXX

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  New Bedford, Pennsylvania

  July 28th

  The return to garrison life was an easy transition to make, much like going back to work after a vacation. The NCO’s had opted to bunk in the high school gym, where a type of barracks area had been established to accommodate the hundreds of replacements that were arriving from orbit--- shipped all the way from Attaya. One corner nearest the concession hall was designated for the sergeants, regardless of gender. This was where Ford and his crew settled into what would be their new home for the remainder of their R & R period.

  As they were rousing the following morning, Ford stood near the edge of his rack, toweling dry after showering and
shaving, and looked out across the gym at the faces of the new arrivals loitering about. His expression was one of concern.

  Mark was sitting on the edge of his own rack, putting on his boots, and noticed Ford’s demeanor, “What’s up? Got the day-after vacation blues?”

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  Ford nodded toward the center of the gym, “Take a good look at these new guys and tell me what you see.”

  The master sergeant turned and did so, at first not noticing anything out of the norm, but after a moment realization dawned. Their faces were shockingly young. Mark paused in lacing his boots and gawked.

  “What’d the Brass do, raid the nursery?” He wondered. “They don’t look a day over sixteen!”

  Minerva and Ecu emerged from the shower room just then, already dressed in their fatigues and toweling their wet hair. Ford motioned for them to come over and pointed out what he and Mark were studying. The girls were incredulous.

  “They can’t be serious!” Ecu said in disbelief.

  Ford crossed his beefy arms and shook his head, “Someone’s been asleep at the switch on this one.”

  No one had noticed the arrival of someone else behind them, and were equally surprised by the sudden interruption when that person spoke.

  “If you’ve ever spent four days in Anderson transit with a

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  shipload of teenagers, then you’ll understand why I’m a bit short-tempered.”

  They spun around to find the source of the voice a surprisingly short individual. The man appeared to be in his fifties, but was wearing his age well. He stood no taller than five feet tall, but possessed an air of authority. He was clad in civvies, apparently ready to take advantage of the remaining two-week leave left to him.

  “I’m Captain Hannock, the new commander for First Battalion,” he introduced himself. “You can call me Charlie in informal situations.”

  Ford extended a hand and the two shook, “I’m your deputy commander, Sir.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Charlie replied. “Strasburg speaks highly of you. Of all of you. Which one is Master Sergeant Carreno?”

  Minerva rose her hand partway, “It’s Corbin, now, Sir. Mark and I were just married.”

  “Congrats, “the Captain offered. “ I understand you’re the C-Company commander?”

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  “Yes, Sir.”

  Charlie motioned toward the gym, “Eighty of those kids belong to you. I’d recommend giving them some kind of improvised field training before we get deployed again. Have them practice some maneuvers.”

  Ford had to voice his concerns, “Why are these replacements so young?”

  Charlie shrugged, “I know it’s pathetic, but we’re desperate for fresh troops. The Global Congress hasn’t yet approved a war-time draft. The average volunteer age out there is sixteen. There are a few as young as fourteen. As their leaders, we’re going to have to adjust to the idea of being surrogate parents of a sort. Basic training doesn’t make them any more mature than they’re ready to be.”

  “The best way to get them even close to being prepared for what they might face in the field is an exercise,” Mark suggested.

  Ford nodded in agreement, “I’ll talk to Strasburg, and maybe we can arrange something out at Parris Island. I heard that North Carolina escaped the initial nuclear strikes.”

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  The captain took a folded piece of paper from a pocket and opened it, studying its contents, “By the way, who’s Sergeant Manny Guevara?”

  Manny looked up from his bunk nearby, “Here, Sir.”

  “Congratulations are in order,” the dwarfish man told him, “Orders from Regiment. You’re promoted to gunnery sergeant. Report to Supply for your chevrons, Gunny.”

  Manny beamed.

  Charlie waved as he turned to leave, “I’ll trust this up to you guys, I need a vacation while I can still get one!”

  The group of senior NCO’s moved to finish getting dressed so that they could get the ball rolling. There was not much time to get those kids billeted and familiarized with field operations.

  XXXXX

  After breakfast, Ford had all of the new arrivals in formation on the high school football field and had begun the process of assigning them to companies. Mark was assigned

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  commander of Alpha, Manny of Bravo, and Minerva took her position at the head of Charlie Company. The younger children were antsy and had difficulty keeping quiet until Ford issued one of his signature bellows, ordering silence. It even caught his staff by surprise. Two hundred and forty troopers jerked in fright and came to instant attention.

  Ford paced the formations, scowling at each individual. It brought memories back for Minerva, for when he was once her drill instructor, sizing everyone up on their first day of training.

  “This is not a game, boys and girls,” he growled. “You are only a few weeks away from being deployed to a combat zone! You are going to encounter some of the most frightening and dangerous days of your lives. You are going to see your friends getting horribly injured and killed. You, yourselves, may be killed. This is no laughing matter! If you want to live to see the end of this war, then you need to pull your heads out of your butts RIGHT NOW!”

  The sergeant major paused in front of a coffee-skinned young woman, standing stiffly at attention. She was thin, even

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  within the bulk of her armor, face set in an expression of calm detachment, eyes front and unwavering.

  “Sound off,” Ford demanded.

  “Lance Corporal Jovannah Brion, section leader, First Platoon, Charlie Company!” She answered smartly and with confidence.

  Ford nodded slightly, frowning, “Brion. Is your father Captain Brion, CO of the Terra Daley?”

  “Affirmative, Sergeant Major,” she replied proudly, “He signed my minor’s enlistment authorization. I’m sixteen.”

  “You made Lance Corporal right out of boot?” Ford wondered, “I know that takes unusual circumstance.”

  Her eyes shifted, locking with his, defiant, “It’s not because of my father. I earned my stripes. Junior ROTC in high school, and I busted my butt in basic training.”

  Ford nodded again, not angered by her capricious mood, rather impressed by it, “I can see that. Your company commander shares your inner fire. I can see why she appointed you section leader. Think you’ll be able to handle your people in combat?”

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  Her eyes returned to front, “Bet your butt, Sergeant Major.”

  His eyebrows rose at that, and he had to struggle to suppress a grin, “Ooo-Rah,” he said softly, resuming his stroll through the ranks.

  Ford stopped before one particular trooper, towering over the boy, and looked down at him with visible surprise, “What’s your name, Marine?”

  The boy gawked up at him, eyes bulging, “Private Timothy Starr, Sir.”

  “How old are you, Son?”

  “Fourteen, Sir.”

  The kid was astonishingly small for his age. He looked like a ten year old.

  Ford turned and traded a look with Minerva, as this formation was her company. Her expression was of disbelief, mirroring his own. The sergeant major looked over at the young girl standing next in line, trembling.

  “Sound off, Private,” he said a bit more gently. “What’s your name? “

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  “Ashley Starr, Sir, “she answered. “ I’m Timmy’s sister.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “Sixteen, Sir.”

  Ford was taken aback, “Why are you two here? You should be in school!”

  The young girl swallowed and was holding back tears, “Our parents were killed last year, in the invasion. This is what we want! The orphanage signed consent
with the recruiter!”

  Ford absorbed that, trying to hide the inner emotion that he was feeling. So, this is what things were coming to. Orphaned children volunteering to fight a man’s war. He asked himself where the adults were in all of this. The draft should have been reinstated long before shoving rifles into the hands of children!

  He moved down the line. The kids in their armor looked more like children dressed for Halloween. He paused again, this time before a boy who was a head taller than those around him. His armor sported a black sash mark across the breastplate, with the emblem of the Attayan Elite Corps next to that of the U.E.M.C. globe and anchor.

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  “What’s this?” Ford asked.

  “PFC Dylan Briggs, Sir, age seventeen,” the boy answered.

  “I mean this sash design in your nano-armor,” Ford said. “I haven’t seen this before.”

  “Elite Forces, Sir.”

  Ford smirked, “Elite! How much training have you had?”

  “Four weeks of basic, Sir, Attayan RTC. “

  “Four weeks of basic training in the Recruit Training Command qualifies you for Special Forces?” Ford asked him sternly.

  The boy shrugged, “I volunteered for it, Sergeant Major. I was supposed to ship to advanced training, but my orders must have gotten mixed up. They just gave me my Spec-Ops insignia, and assigned me to this line unit.”

  Ford sighed and walked away, back to the front of the formation. He conferred privately with Minerva.

  “I can’t believe this,” he told her, “What are we supposed to do when they send us back to the Front? We have kids out there barely out of puberty!”