Trial by Ice (3 page)

A Marine Private walked forward and stood dejectedly next to them. He didn’t speak. His face was bruised. A deep gash tinged with white arced across his cheeks and forehead.

The trio walked out into the dimming light tinted with frost and wind. The chill immediately set in crackling the jackets and stiffening the gear. They walked single file into the harsh wind. The goal: a dropcap half a kilometer away. Scattered debris collected snow and grit around them. Bodies were already drifting over. The snow was coming in heavier and not just the windswept remnants of some lost storm.

The capsule was crushed, blackened and split like an old tin can. The three worked in silence, stripping out the rations, another shelter, and what appeared to be a purifier. They ignored the white-cheeked wooden bodies frozen in the capsule.

“What are we going to do, sir?” the man with the frost-touched cheeks asked.

William licked his chapped lips. The air was dry and abrasive. “Wait for the fleet.”

“What if they don’t come?” he asked with pleading eyes.

William looked up at the technology around him. The capsule was dead. The tenuous reach of man into the void couldn’t do much to save them now. “They’ll come.”

The air shimmered with motes of frost with each strike of wind. William took one last look at the gallery of souls staring down at them. There was no salvation in the snow.

They walked through the cruel wind, buffeted and pushed until they reached the huts. They sat, chilled through, and watched as another group went out. The only constant was the wind and drifting snows. The groups came back, remarked on a find, and dreaded the next trip out. The greatest discovery was a black case of sleeping bags. The men draped them onto themselves like ermine cloaks.

The sun dropped to a dim white disk on the horizon. The men feared the night. Each sat in his own way and huddled for heat, wary that no more would come other than from his own body.

Grue stomped through the door and pushed himself through the crouched bodies. “You got your juice.”

“Where’s Xan?”

Grue hunched into a corner and grabbed a sleeping bag. He ignored William with an intense energy focused on getting comfortable.

William stood and shed the cloak of the sleeping bag and made his way for the door. Vito came through the door and stumbled next to him.

“William, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Vito, can it wait? Xan is in the capsule, we’ve got power.”

Vito nodded. “We can talk there.”

“Sergeant Crow, detail a few men to tend to the wounded.” William slid the borrowed mask onto his face and stepped into the cold.

The wind had dropped to just above a breeze but the temperature had dropped with it. The day was drawing closed as the horizon was dimly lit.

“What’s on the horizon?” William asked.

“Pardon?” Vito said.

“Are you Army? Marine? Navy?”

“Civilian. I’m with the Delegation.”

“Oh, I didn’t know we used diplomats on drops, too.” William kicked through a waist high drift and tilted his head as Vito walked behind.

“When the need arises,” Vito said.

“What’s your specialty?”

Vito stopped and slapped the gritty snow off of his pants. “Terraforming Technologies, Nanites, with a smattering of History.”

William smiled and nodded. “A history professor?”

Vito smiled with cracked lips. “And so much more.”

“When I asked what was on the horizon, I meant what did you need to speak about?” William asked.

“The patches, we’ll run out soon. Each is good for a few hours. They are stabilizers, not for long term use.”

“What happens?”

“Some will wake up, or some will just die. The anticoagulants and nanites are the only thing keeping some of them alive.”

William nodded. The drop capsule was closer. “Anything to be done?”

Vito shook his head. “Not unless the fleet arrives and we get a proper med-vac. Even if the Surgeon you’d shot was here we still couldn’t save them.”

“That didn’t end like I thought it would.”

“No, but I bet you didn’t think you’d be walking on the ground,” Vito replied.

A slight hissing and an occasional pop rolled off of the capsule. Falling snow evaporated on the stained grayish white cooling fins. A ragged plastic sheet covered the hatch. Bodies lay roughly piled just out from the crooked entrance. The reality of the moment changed the tone of the walk. He had almost forgotten, just for a windless moment.

They pushed through the plastic sheet and a hint of warm air rushed past them. The frost that had accumulated on them softened briefly before freezing again. The electronics around them had warmed the air ever so slightly.

“Xan, what have you got?” William asked. He walked across the crushed and crumpled floor.

Xan had a wire and conduit console draped across his lap like an old woman knitting. “Something, sir, but I think we need your ID code to get it.”

“Got a keypad?”

Xan nodded his chin at a crumpled numeric pad. “Watch the screen, some of the keys double-tap.”

William tapped, corrected, tapped, and tried again. Finally the screen relented and text cascaded down.

“What does it say?” Vito asked.

The two men read in silence.

“William?” Vito asked again as he scrambled over the seats.

“They’re gone,” William replied.

“Who?” Vito clambered closer, more frantic.

“The fleet, they blinked out.” William sat down hard.

The wind quickened and the plastic flapped. The brief solace of the sunset gave way to the chill night winds that brought nothing but ice and pain. The three men walked back in silence, buffeted with despair.

CHAPTER TWO

Walking Frozen

The faces of the survivors wore a light coat of stubble flecked with gray frost. A dim light strip on the edge of the tent cast the only faint glow. Inside the tent heaps of sleeping bags were scattered in clumps. The tent took on the smell that any small enclosed space did when filled with fearful, injured men.

William Grace pushed through the entry and into a cold space devoid of wind. A few of the sleeping bags moved and faces looked up from shadows. He hesitated, then turned to Vito.

“Go get the others.”

Vito nodded and walked outside.

“You mind?” Xan asked, pointing to a pile of sleeping bags.

William shook his head and waited in the chill air.

Men began to stir. Whispers wandered through the room. William looked down at them and realized that they were now both his burden, and his salvation.

Vito returned with another small group of men carrying sleeping bags in their arms. “I’ll go relieve the guys watching the wounded,” Vito said as he walked back outside.

William waited. He tucked his chilled fingers into the dead man’s jacket and remembered he still carried the gun. The frame felt cold even through the gloves. He turned it over in his hand idly feeling its weight. The rest came in.

He cleared his voice and straightened his back. “Xan and Grue got one of the comm sets working.”

Eager sounds and smiles broke out across the room. Men sat up and slid the sleeping bags off of their heads. William pulled his hands out of his jacket and made a placating motion.

“They’re gone, left system, I doubt they think there are any survivors,” William said.

Silence reigned with the only sound being the wind whipping the snow against the shelter. Eyes, white with fear, darted around the room all looking for one or another to speak, to question, to reassure. Only the wind spoke.

William broke the silence. “We’re going to get out on our own.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Grue called from the back.

“Maybe, but they lost a heavy drop cruiser to a planet that was supposed to be unprotected. Would you blink the fleet in to something like that?” The crowd verged on angry but still maintained military discipline, for now.

“What do we do?” a thin voice asked.

“For now, collect supplies, tend to the wounded, and move our way south.”

“But where are we going?” a man named Kwesi asked.

“To the original objective. We’re going to complete the mission.” William looked around and let it sink in. “From what we can gather, we came down about a thousand miles north, we blinked in a polar orbit and down we came.” His mouth was dry. He rasped his lips with his tongue. “For now, everyone rest, there’s another wind coming in.”

Men shifted and looked to each other. William looked back and waited for the mutiny, the questions, the anger. But all he was met with was silence. Only a few sets of eyes looked at him angrily—Grue especially.

He settled in near the door, the coldest part of the tent. He stuck one sleeping bag behind him, another under, and crawled into a third. The cold was merely kept at bay, but not stopped.

* * *

The night was cold. Cold enough to brittle steel and destroy flesh. The tent was rimed with frost in the corners as the men slept a fitful sleep. Each was lost in his moment, alone, and without dream. The night drew on long, as all uncomfortable nights seem to do. Before the day was light the men stirred and waited, looking up to the lightband above them. The lights were dimmer than before, barely enough to throw a glow.

“Well,” William said as he sat up into the frozen air. He felt like he had slept on a bed of crushed gravel. His body ached and rebelled at the thought of getting out of the slight warmth of the sleeping bags. He heard voices. Men streamed outside. One returned with a ration case, the other with an empty crate of snow. Breakfast.

“It’s cold,” a man said in a sleepy voice.

“Cold enough to chill a donkey,” another man replied.

Raw words drifted through the tent as men adjusted to the cold. They chewed on the rough crystals of snow. William put some onto his mouth and instantly felt colder. They tasted alkaline. His tongue felt rough. His thirst was not sated.

“Breakfast I see?” Vito said as he slid through the door and onto the floor next to William.

William handed him a ration bar. “Stick it under your arm.”

Vito nodded and let out a hiss as he placed the bar against cold flesh.

“How are the wounded?” William asked.

“Wounded,” Vito replied as he stuffed snow into his mouth. “Bleh.”

“Doesn’t do much.”

“No, but the tea is a bit late in coming.” Vito scooped up some more snow.

“Can we move them, Vito?”

Vito looked around the room with his soft, dark eyes. “I’m not sure we have the strength to do it, but we can try. Most everyone here is in damn poor health. Broken bones, ribs, contusions, frostbite, and we’re all slowly heading to hypothermia.” Vito coughed in the dry air. “Once the patches run out, most of the seriously wounded will die. Then we can carry the rest.”

“How long?” William asked quietly.

“About forty-eight hours. Less if you decide to ration the patches for everyone else,” Vito said, without making eye contact with William.

William felt the weight of command settle once again on his shoulders. No, he realized, it hadn’t left, he had just forgotten. He became aware of the eyes around the room all sneaking glances in between conversations. He was, for the moment, in command. “Hmm.”

Vito nodded. “Hmm, indeed.”

The decision rolled through his mind bitterly. No option was the good option. “Walk the line,” William said as he rubbed his cold stubbled chin. “Cut off the most injured, try and buy some more time for the less wounded.”

Vito nodded. “When?”

“Once we’re done eating.” William looked around and saw Sergeant Crow watching him. “Sergeant, get a roll call, see what we have here. Organize more search teams, we could use more medical supplies.”

“Yes sir,” Crow replied. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing the right thing.”

“I certainly hope so, otherwise I’ve got a court martial coming.”

“That’s assuming you get out to get court martialed,” Vito added as he gnawed on the featureless, brown bar.

They slowly crept into motion like a cold worm. Men emerged from beneath the sleeping bags and went outside, just because they had no other place to go. The light drew them out, and the cold pushed them back in. William and Vito walked to the entry of the triage tent.

“You don’t have to come in,” Vito said.

“No, I do,” William replied.

They entered and Vito walked down the still line. His eyes studied, checked, and took in what details he could. He stooped and inspected each one before returning to William.

“Sixteen here.” Vito sighed and ran his hand under his cap. “I’m going to pull half.”

William nodded and stood by the door with cold eyes.

Vito knelt next to each and peeled the sticky nanite patch from the neck of the wounded. The patches seemed to resist, to want to grab and stick. Each shimmered briefly in the frosty air before returning to dull black. He laid the patches carefully on the floor.

Vito moved to the blonde woman that the Surgeon had tried to shoot. Her face was a dirty green and yellow bruise from chin to eyebrows. A crust of blood sat below her nostrils. Vito stripped the patch and continued along. He collected the patches and reapplied backings. He turned and walked over by William’s side. He nodded and stood with crossed arms. “It’ll take fifteen minutes or so.”

“What’s going to happen?” William asked, eyes locked on the blonde.

“Most will bleed out internally once the core nanites shut down. In others the swelling of the skull will do it.”

“Will any of them wake?”

“Doubtful.”

William nodded and watched. Time passed by with only the wind as a metronome. A hand went rigid, then relaxed. Breathing became ragged and stopped. Vito walked and checked each after fifteen minutes and placed the sleeping bags over their heads. More men died. An hour later of the eight, only the blonde remained.

“What about her?” William asked as he stood before the blonde woman. The bruising seemed darker, angrier and the blood ran in a thin stream from her nose.

Vito shrugged and walked back to the supplies. He returned with a fresh patch and applied it to her neck. “Lucky.”

“I’m going to stay here. Mind sending some help to move them?” Vito asked.

William nodded and walked out the door into the frigid morning air. Grue stood near the door of the first tent with eyes filled with fire. Another soldier stood and was speaking into his ear. William saw Crow approaching with Corporal Leduc.

“Sir.”

“Sergeant Crow,” William said. “Corporal, get a few men in good shape and help Vito out.”

“Yes, sir,” Leduc replied and turned back to the tent.

William kept his gaze on Grue and watched as he and the other man walked back into the tent. “Shall we get out of the wind, Sergeant?”

Crow nodded. The two men walked to the third tent and pushed inside. A few heavily injured still lingered in sleeping bags. The walls flapped lightly in the variable wind.

“How does it look, Crow?” William asked.

Crow shook his head slowly. “We’ve got a few cases of ration bars, about a week’s worth at the recommended ration. Maybe double that on half rations.” He took his heavy gloves off and blew into his hands. “No water, though we’ve got some containers that would work if we could keep it from freezing. Plus a purifier, whatever use it may be.”

William nodded. Water was going to become an issue and fast. He was constantly thirsty, his lips cracked and dry and his tongue felt like a dry potato in his mouth. No matter how hard he worked he just couldn’t seem to get enough saliva. “Mitsubishi-Kubota purifier?”

“I didn’t see a name,” Crow said.

“Color?”

“Silver and orange.”

“That’s a Mitsubishi then, good unit.”

“I’ll talk to Grue about the reactor, see if we can strip it out.” William looked past him to a young man huddled in a sleeping bag. “Soldier, head out and get the other NCOs. Vito, as well, please.” He sighed. “We might as well make it a proper meeting.”

“Very well, sir,” Crow replied as he breathed more into his cupped hands.

The young man returned. “They’re coming, sir.”

“Thank you. Uh, what’s your name, soldier?” William asked.

“Xinhu, Navy, sir, ship’s welder.” His eyes were rimmed red with lips so chapped they looked white.

William nodded and waited for the others.

The NCOs streamed in and took seats with sleeping bags as cloaks. The air grew colder the longer the door was open. The men hunched and shivered and wondered.

“All right. Let’s start with introductions. I’m William Grace, Midshipman, but call me Grace.” William looked to Crow.

“Sergeant Crow.”

The man he saw earlier in the white uniform spoke next. “Warrant Officer Sebastien Villeneuve, Core Marines.”

The men, staring idly, all turned to Sebastien. William looked closer and pointed to the next man.

“Sergeant Selim, Marines.”

“Xavier Leduc,” stammered a man with close cropped black hair. “Corporal.”

“Berry, Corporal.
Army
.”

“Vitomir Kovac.”

“So here’s how it is,” William said. “We’re on half ration, we’ve got enough to last us a bit. I want teams heading out and looking for more. Looking for anything, anything that can help us.”

“What’s the plan, sir?” Sebastien asked.

William licked his dry lips. “We go south.” He looked at the reactions of the NCOs in front of him. A few eyes lit up. “I’m looking for some information. On my end, we were to blink in, drop the capsules and blink out. What was the objective?”

The NCOs looked to Sebastien but he kept his eyes on William.

“Secure the needle. That was goal number one. The Marines had a secondary objective, refinery I think,” Berry replied in a slow drawl. He looked around at the other NCOs and they agreed.

“What was the secondary? What sort of resistance was expected?”

“There was a refinery, one that wasn’t supposed to be here. The Army was to secure the needle and hold it while we took the refining array before they could destroy it,” Sebastien said. “We didn’t expect resistance.”

The men around the room nodded. The shock was still lingering.

“Neither did we, this was supposed to be routine.”

“So what happened?” Berry asked. His tone insinuated blame.

William looked at Berry for a moment before replying. “I wish I knew, I was working to support the drop. I was in the dropcap bay. I haven’t seen any survivors that were with the rest of the ship.”