Issue In Doubt (21 page)

Greig looked at Quinn, who nodded.

“Yes, sir, we can do it.”

“Then go there and wake your platoon. Right before I heard you, I made contact with SAR. They have us on their list and will be here in a couple of hours. So be ready to be rescued.”

Greig and Quinn grinned at each other, relieved to know that someone knew where they were, and was coming for them.

Chapter Fifteen

Jordan, Eastern Shapland

During the SAR mission to Mini Mouse, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, moved to Jordan, one of the areas where Force Recon had encountered the aliens. India Company’s third platoon was held in reserve pending the return of its first squad. With the squad suffering two dead and three wounded out of its thirteen-man strength, third platoon remained in reserve for the time being. Kilo Company was in positions on the north and west sides of Jordan, Lima Company on the south and east. Their lines were punctuated and backed up by the heavy weapons of Weapons Company. India Company was billeted inside the small city.

“Mackie, Cafferata,” Sergeant Martin called out when he rejoined his squad after the squad leaders’ debriefing that was held immediately after the return from Mini Mouse, “on me.”

The two lance corporals heaved themselves to their feet from where they had been resting in the shade of a building on the south side of the town, and joined their squad leader. Neither was feeling very enthusiastic about anything, they didn’t even feel relieved to be out of anything remotely resembling a defensive position.

“What’s up, honcho?” Mackie asked flat-voiced when he reached Martin.

Cafferata didn’t say anything, he just gave his squad leader a blank stare. The fight on Mini Mouse had been the first combat for either of them, the first time they’d lost men they knew. The experience was preying on them.

If Martin was depressed or upset by the casualties in his squad, it didn’t show on his face or in his voice. “Both of your fire team leaders are out for a while with their wounds, but I guess you figured that.”

Mackie mumbled an indistinct “I know,” and Cafferata nodded dumbly.

“That means the two of you are acting fire team leaders, until Corporals Adriance and Button return to duty.”

This time Mackie nodded dumbly, and Cafferata mumbled, “Yeah, I figured.”

Martin looked closely at them, but neither looked back—or even at each other. Their eyes were down and to the side, not looking at anything in particular. He had to break them out of their funk before it got worse and paralyzed them.

“A-ten-
hut
!”

Startled by the unexpected command, the two came to attention, though not as sharply as they would have in garrison—or even before the fight on Mini Mouse.

“What i—?” Mackie started to say.

“Did I tell you to speak, Lance Corporal?” Martin snarled, thrusting his face into Mackie’s. He shot a glare at Cafferata, warning him to keep quiet. “Well?” he demanded when Mackie didn’t say anything.

“No, Sergeant,” Mackie said, clench jawed. His eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Martin took a step back and looked from one to the other before saying, “Listen up, you two, and listen up good. Do you think you’re the First Marines to lose buddies in combat?
Every
Marine who’s gone in harm’s way has lost buddies. I have, Sergeant Johnson has, and Sergeant Mausert has. And you better believe Staff Sergeant Guillen has! Some of the corporals in this platoon have lost buddies in combat. I know it’s shitty, but shit happens, particularly in war.”

He stopped and looked aside for a moment. When he began again, his voice was thick. “I just lost two more Marines, men I was responsible for.” His voice harshened. “If you feel like hell, how do you think I feel? Zion and Porter were my men, my responsibility. That weighs, that weighs heavily. Heavier than what’s got you down, believe me.

“But if I let it weigh me down too much, it’ll make me screw up somehow the next time we meet those aliens, and more Marines will get killed. Then it won’t just be because shit happens, it’ll be because I screwed up. Their deaths will my fault. I can’t allow that to happen. And I can’t allow you to feel so sorry for yourselves that you screw up and get good Marines killed. So shape up! Do you understand?
Do you?
”

Mackie swallowed rather than say anything. Cafferata mumbled, “Yes, Sergeant.”

Martin again shoved his face to Mackie’s. “Do you hate me, Mackie? Is that why you aren’t getting with the program?”

Mackie worked up a mouthful of nervous saliva, then swallowed it. “No, Sergeant, I don’t hate you. I’m thinking about the squad, how we can function when we’re short so many men.” His voice was clear, although not as strong as he would have liked.

“Oh?” Martin said, taking a step back. “Do you have a suggestion, Lance Corporal?”

“Ah. . .” Mackie looked around, thinking.

“I’m waiting, Lance Corporal.”

“Well, we’re down five men. That leaves us—you—with seven men. Wouldn’t reorganizing the squad into two fire teams be better?”

“You mean with me as one fire team leader and Corporal Vittori as the other?”

“Yes, Sergeant, sort of like that.”

Martin slowly shook his head. “No, for a couple of reasons. First, our wounded will be coming back fairly soon, and I don’t want to have to keep reorganizing the squad. Second, I want to give my lance corporals a bit of experience as fire team leaders—.”

“But first fire team is only me and Orndoff! Third fire team is Cafferata and Hill. And what about experience for Garcia, he’s a lance corporal, too.”

Martin nodded. “That’s true, all of what you said. But you and Cafferata only having one man each limits how much you can screw up. And getting Garcia some experience is my problem, not yours, so don’t worry about it. Do you remember that exercise in Hawaii, when you wound up being an acting fire team leader when I was a simulated casualty?”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Mackie swallowed again.

“That was training. This is real. It’s different. Do you understand?”

Mackie’s eyes widened. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“That’s better. Now, are you ready to take on a little responsibility?”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

“What about you, Cafferata?”

“Yes, Sergeant, I am.” Cafferata beamed.

Satisfied that the two had no further questions, Martin called out, “First squad, on me!” In a moment the other five members of the squad were standing in front of him. He briefly updated them on the condition of their three wounded Marines and told them how he was reorganizing the squad.

“It’s only temporary,” he finished. “Corporal Vittori is the senior man, both in rank and experience, so make no mistake, he’s second to me in the squad’s chain of command regardless of who’s first fire team leader. Any questions?”

The question was almost always rhetorical, and was so this time as well—nobody had any questions.

“All right, then. The situation remains the same; India Company is in reserve for the battalion, second platoon is reserve for the company, and first squad is the platoon’s reserve. We’ll be the last ones committed if, and I emphasize
if
the aliens attack here.”

“I have a question now, Sergeant Martin,” Mackie said.

“You couldn’t have asked it before?”

Mackie shook his head. “Before was about the squad’s reorganization. This is about our reserve status.”

“So what’s your question?”

“How good is the intelligence that the aliens aren’t likely to attack here?”

Martin gave Mackie a hard look, then glanced around to see if any officers or senior NCOs were near by. None were. He motioned everybody to close in.

“All right,” he said
sotto voce
, “here’s the straight scoop, so far as I know it. Nobody, not recon, Force Recon, air, or satellite, has found the aliens or signs that they were just here.

“But. . . . Here’s where it gets hairy. I’ve heard scuttlebutt that satellite observation has discovered gravitational anomalies similar to the ones on Mini Mouse, the ones where the aliens came from to attack us when we went in with the SAR birds.” He shrugged. “I know, and you probably do too, that all worlds have gravitational anomalies, and they don’t necessarily mean squat. But we also know that on Mini Mouse some of the anomalies indicated hiding places for the aliens. What that means is, maybe nobody’s here to bother us. Maybe the aliens have us outnumbered and are just waiting for us to let our guards down.”

He stepped back and allowed his voice to move back toward normal. “That’s everything I know or have heard. What I suspect is, we had best be alert, because those little bad bastards could come at us from anywhere at any time. It doesn’t matter that we’re in reserve. When they hit, they’re just as likely to hit us here as hit anybody at Millerton. And they could even pop up right here inside Jordan, so that India Company would be the First Marines engaged.

“Any more questions? No? Good! So don’t give me any shit the next time I tell you to clean your weapons. Now get back to whatever goofing off you were doing. Just keep an eye peeled for trouble, that’s all.

“And clean your damn weapons!”

Before the end of the day, the Marines of India Company were moved into the vacant houses in Jordan.

Settling in, Jordan

Over the next three days reports filtered down to the Marines planetside about elements of VII Corps being located and rescued by Navy Search and Rescue teams. The Army troops were being apportioned to the serviceable transports of ARG17 to continue their voyage to Troy. There were no reports of sightings of the enemy, in space, on Mini Mouse, or planetside.

Three days. That’s how long it took for Sergeant Martin to become a prophet.

Number 8, Sugar Clover Place, Jordan, Eastern Shapland

“What the fuck!” Orndoff shouted. He scrabbled across the floor of the house’s living room, reaching for his rifle.

“What’s the problem?” Mackie asked. He already had his rifle in his hands by the time he looked past Orndoff and saw an alien crouched in the doorway to the dining room, pointing its weapon ahead of itself. The alien looked just like the images they’d studied on their way to Troy—head at the end of a long neck, body horizontal on top of legs that bent the wrong way, feather-like structures ran from its crown down the length of its back until they blossomed into a spray on its tail.

“Oh, shit!” Mackie shouted. He didn’t hesitate but began shooting even before he had his rifle trained on the intruder. The alien got off a short, automatic burst from its weapon before bullets from Mackie’s rifle blew it out of the doorway.

“First squad, report!” Sergeant Martin shouted from somewhere else in the house. Pounding footsteps said that he was running toward the fire.

“First fire team, we’re all right,” Mackie shouted after glancing at Orndoff to make sure he hadn’t been injured in the brief exchange of fire.

While Vittori and Cafferata were reporting no casualties in their fire teams, Mackie positioned Orndoff.

“Get behind the divan and cover me.”

“Where are you going?” Orndoff shouted.

Martin burst into the room and swept it with his eyes. “What happened, Mackie? And where are you going?” Martin demanded.

Mackie paused on his way to the door where the alien had appeared and looked at his squad leader, noticing that Martin hadn’t taken the time to grab his helmet. “An alien just came in. I blew him away. Now I’m going to see where he went.”

Martin had heard Mackie tell Orndoff what to do. He spared the PFC a glance to judge his angle of covering fire, then said, “I’m coming with you, from the other side. Where’s your helmet?”

“The same place as yours.”

“Let’s do it.”

The two approached the doorway at different angles, neither straight ahead. Mackie from the left, looking through the door to the right, Martin from the right looking into the area to the left of the doorway.

“Do you see it?” Martin asked.

“It’s not in my field of view.”

“Did it come out of the kitchen?” Martin asked. The kitchen was the only other room that entered into the dining room. Martin had reached the door and was against the wall to the right, looking as deep into the room as possible. A china cabinet and a credenza were against the walls, too close for anyone to hide behind. The dining table had a cloth, but it barely overlapped the table top, providing no way to hide underneath. Neither did the chairs placed around the table obstruct the view.

“I don’t know. It was already in the doorway by the time I saw it.” He was opposite Martin at the doorway. Between them they could see nearly the entire interior of the dining room.

“You ready?” Martin asked. When Mackie nodded, he said, “On three, you then me. One. Two.
Three
!”

Mackie charged through the doorway left to right, spinning to cover the corner he hadn’t been able to see into. Martin was right behind him, going right to left and covering the corner he hadn’t seen into.

“Clear,” Mackie shouted.

“Clear,” Martin echoed.

The alien wasn’t there. But. . .

“I have a blood trail,” Mackie said.

“And I’ve got a weapon,” Martin said. Turning his head back to the living room, he called, “Orndoff, get in here. Secure that.” He pointed to the alien’s—rifle, for lack of a better name to call it. Then he got on his comm to report to Second Lieutenant Commiskey.

After reporting the bare bones of what had already happened, he said, “We’ve secured the weapon and are following the blood trail into the kitchen. There’s an exit to the backyard there, maybe it came from outside.”

“When you find where it went next,” Commiskey said, “don’t pursue. Report, then we’ll decide what to do next.”

“Aye aye, report but don’t pursue.”

Commiskey signed off, presumably to report to Captain Sitter.

“Orndoff,” Martin said, “cover us. Mackie, let’s check the kitchen the same way we came in here.”

“Roger that, honcho.” Mackie answered. He froze a soon as he turned to check the corner.

“The basement door’s open,” he said softly. “And I found the body.”