Welcome to the Marines (Corporate Marines Book 2) (10 page)

The Earth invasion showed us a great deal. Against a large enough tech base with a militant planet (which Earth is), the alien invasion was doomed to fail. Not enough basic damage was done up-front and the invasion fleet never really gained a foothold. The proper way to run an invasion is to deploy Kinetic Energy Weapons (KEW) in sufficient quantities to take out infrastructure so there is a limited response to the beachhead. At the same time as landing, deploy viruses to reduce resistance and kill off the other side. Do not just drop one invasion force. Split the forces up and minimize a ‘super strike’ such as an alien KEW dropped on the beachhead. Another option for invasion is to hit them from a distance and let them die off over a generation or two, and then invade.

Some thoughts from this: The aliens’ knowledge of Earth was about seventy years out of date. I am not sure how they knew this, unless they guessed, but to put together what actually hit the planet would take a long time. So when the aliens planned to attack, they were using old and obsolete data, which caused them to use insufficient force. Humanity was no longer shocked or in awe of aliens, so an alien invasion was not that difficult for people to come to grips with and start fighting back. Basically, our worldview had not been shattered, as we’d already discovered that we were not the sole inhabitants of the universe. Maybe if humans had not, by this time, had a few years to get used to the knowledge that aliens were out there, then the bad guys would have won.

But no one knows what else went wrong to stop the follow-on forces.

The big question that the governments of the world had to answer when they sat down together was to try to figure out how to fight the enemy when they came back. The final answer, after months of negotiating, was to create a ‘super’ corporation. It was private enterprise with a charter. They took lessons learned from the best of every military and government.

Immediately colonizing and mapping out the entire solar system, as well as creating bolt holes throughout it, was the first priority. That was a big job.

The theory of colonization, like so much else in science-fiction writing from before contact, had been proven to be a hopeless pipe dream. To import a hundred thousand colonists from a star-traveling race somewhere into deep space means that their descendants die. Any race that high-tech has to have a complete and comprehensive tech base—like a planet, say like Earth. There are millions of possible fail points that could destroy the colony, from a failed filter that is not supposed to fail and no one knows how to make anymore, to a hole punched into a colony dome on a toxic planet. Look at the failed Mars expedition, where a filter replacement was the wrong type. Most of the people died!

This is not the same today if you are in the Sol System, as parts are only a few days away and any big project has lots of redundancies built in. But in deep space on a hostile world, lots can go wrong—including alien intervention. Therefore, to properly colonize and not backslide (which may have happened to other races out there), you have to transport a huge tech base and population base to ensure the colony survives. You almost have to export the home planet! If fabrication plants can be built in future that can build anything from scratch, then it
may
be possible to head off and colonize one day. Until then, we need to be very careful.

The plans to begin colonizing Mars and evaluate the other planets in the solar system went ahead. The timeframe was so long that the majority of people out there could not grasp it.

With the alien invasion, we had skirted one of the bigger concerns. During first contact, the aliens had been able to communicate that they were ‘satisfied’ that we were still here. Survival rates for species reaching for the stars were not perfect. We couldn’t understand what they were trying to tell us at the time, but the theory was that surviving as a species when heading out to deep space was a break-even proposition at best.

What is the breaking point for aliens when they develop star drives? They either make it or they don’t. It is unknown what the break is, but it is guessed that at least 20 percent end up destroying themselves before they even leave their planet. We guess that a divided planet does not want the other side to get out, as they fear it and go to war to stop their enemies. Take, as a prime example, the planet that was discovered a few years ago and that we have laid claim to now as our first extra-solar colony. It’s not really that far from Earth in transit time at two months. They appear to have been behind Earth in tech but used multiple nukes and some other weapons, including one, possibly two KEW. This planet will not be incredibly difficult to terraform, but there is still background radiation and the estimates are that any colonists will be in domes or underground cities for another fifty years. The race that did this to themselves did it at least two hundred years ago; some estimates are that it was done further back. Some parts of their cities survived, but the story is not fully known.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night shaking in a cold sweat. I had never realized how fragile life really can be.

I
had sat down and written that test feeling good about the results as I completed it and handed it in to the assessor. I was wrung out mentally after writing that series of exams but still felt positive. I had gone to sleep that night with a sense of accomplishment. Little did I know that I would not hold onto it for the next few days. But that feeling did help me through the hard times that were coming.

That series of classes were the last in this phase that we participated in at the facility. We are woken up the next morning and have a normal routine until after breakfast. At that point, while we are all still sitting in the cafeteria, there is an announcement over the intercom system, which is almost never used. “All candidates will be dressed for departure in ten minutes. Exit your room when you are ready and stand in the hallway.”

Everyone looks around and then we are all up and running.

We just need to get changed and then are good to go. I dress quickly; I don’t think anyone is late as timings are strict and being docked points for sleeping in is not how anyone wants to get kicked out of the program.

We go upstairs, where several busses are waiting for us all.

We board and then the busses take off, driving a fair distance until we arrive at an airport. There are two large planes on the tarmac waiting for us.

Only base staff wait for us there and they have us loaded onto the plane fast.

The doors shut, we started taxiing and then the planes are up and off.

As we gain height, a video starts up.

The speaker is a gorgeous woman that has so many bodymods she has to be fake. Her smile is big and perfect. I watch the form-fitting bodysuit that she wears; it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Of course, everyone recognizes her. She’s the main spokesperson for the Corporation. She makes more money than most people on the planet.

I don’t even have to compare. Ms. Smirko, who prosecuted me, has nothing on her.

The woman is sitting at a desk and then her smile grows wider and she leans forward just a bit, showing off cleavage designed to make men buy whatever she’s talking about. The angle is calculated to maximize the look of concern that she has on her face while talking to the audience.

Everyone is staring at her. She starts talking. “Welcome to the next phase of candidate training. You have successfully completed the in-class portion and are now moving on to the next stage. During this phase of training, you will be dropped into some of the most extreme weather conditions on the planet. The purpose of this phase of training is to see how you can handle such extremes.”

Her smile widens and she dimples just a bit and giggles. “You aren’t going to be at risk at all during your training. Safety and security personnel will be around at all times to provide whatever assistance you may want and need. You only have to call out for help and you can be removed from the dangerous threats immediately. Good luck, and remember—the Corporation needs you!”

Well, that told me nothing—and judging by the facial expressions of those around me, we all feel like we are doomed.

The plane lands a very short time later but we can’t look outside because all the windows are blacked out.

The door opens and the coldest wind I have ever felt gusts into the plane. The staff member at the front of the plane is wearing a parka and enough winter gear to look like a big stuffed bear. We can barely hear his voice over the wind.

“Exit the plane and follow me into the bunker. There are three sets of airlocks and none are heated, so move in quickly so we can get you outfitted. Do not touch metal unless your hand is covered or you won’t have any skin left when you pull your hand off.”

He turns and walks off the plane. Everyone is getting up and moving quickly for the exit. Thankfully, I have my gloves, but that won’t do anything for warmth. I am fully dressed and my teeth are chattering. I see other candidates didn’t bring gloves and are going to use their jacket sleeves.

The blonde, Mouth, is grabbing one of the light blankets we had on our seats and is doubling it over itself a few times.

I admire her for thinking that fast on her feet.

Then I forget her as I exit the plane and head down the stairs. At the bottom I follow the people ahead of me and move as fast as I can. I can’t have walked more than a hundred meters in maybe a minute but it feels like I crossed the country.

The icy wind cuts right through my clothes and I am shaking so bad that I forget what warmth feels like.

Then, as I am wondering how much farther I can go, the person I’m following moves into a sort of cave and I move in after them.

It’s this bunker thing. It’s covered, and I walk in a few feet and then there is a ninety-degree turn, then a door. I open the door and then walk a few feet and find another turn with another door. It is not heated here at all, but at least the wind is not blowing in my face.

I go through the second door and then feel warm air. The last door I come to looks a lot sturdier and opens before me. Our lead armour instructor is holding it for me.

She just looks at me. “Get in here; you’re going to hold up everyone behind you.”

I move in quickly and continue on into a small open room that is crammed with people. It’s so warm inside that I feel like I’m being baked after being flash-frozen.

Everyone that had come in earlier is huddled up as far away from the door as they can get and I’m stuck closer to the draft than I prefer, but at least the wind is gone and it’s warm.

The last few people enter and then the instructor walks over to a raised podium. She goes up some stairs and then turns to look at us.

“You are in the Arctic. After this brief, you will follow me and be issued Arctic gear. You will then head out onto the ice and follow a navigation route that has been laid out for you. You will be provided no assistance. If you wish to quit, you merely need to push the emergency locator each of you will be given and you will be removed. That constitutes a fail, and you will then be out of this training.”

She pauses and looks around at us. “You depart in five hours and will have everything you need. However, you are weak and all come from larger cities. The expectation is that 60 to 80 percent of you will quit before this training is completed. Move through those doors and get your gear. Pay attention to the demonstrations on equipment; it will only happen once. MOVE!”

We start walking quickly toward the door and file through. We enter a much larger room where clothing and gear is laid out around the outside. There are four people standing in the centre watching us.

In front of us is every type of cold weather gear to be worn, all laid out by size with large numbers, wall-mounted and on the floor on stands. Everyone starts running toward their sizes on different pieces of equipment.

Everything is here. Boots, insulated overalls, parkas, gloves, face covers, underwear and more. I grab what I can immediately and then strip right down and start getting dressed in the warmer clothing. A few people hesitate but I don’t care about them. I have to get ready and then my section’s gear has to be made ready and we have to move.

After the first hour, where everyone scrambles to find gear that fits and get changed, the four at the centre start talking out loud and quickly set up tents, sleeping gear, prepared meals, first aid gear, and show us how to operate every piece of kit that we will be issued. We learn fast to shut up and just watch. Nothing is repeated.

Every piece of kit for outdoor use is easy to assemble and maintain, though.

They cover some of the threats that we’ll face, including bears, ice, snow blindness and, of course, the cold.

The navigation equipment is easy to use; we have three days to navigate to our points and make it back.

They form us up into random groups of ten and have us outfit sleds with all the gear we’ll need, showing us how to pull the sleds in the traces and how to push from the rear. There are ten of us in a section and five of us can manoeuvre this thing while the other five just walk behind.

There is no need to break a trail as the snow is frozen solid into blocks.

We are in the Arctic, somewhere I’d never imagined I’d end up, and have landed in the middle of a ‘mild storm.’ It was -60 degrees Celsius, which is almost -80 Fahrenheit.

We are barely ready to go, with a hot meal inside of us, when the six hours are up.

Immediately, we form up as groups and march out through a large vehicle door. We are leaving as two groups together for some reason, so there are twenty of us moving for the first navigation point, which is only a kilometre away. We are the third group to leave, and we are leaving with a ten-minute spacing between. Every group has a different navigation course to follow.

It is a frozen hell, black as pitch with gusting wind blowing in our faces. We are all tied together by a fine line that is intended to keep us together. There is no fear of it breaking as it can hold the weight of a fully-loaded armoured vehicle.

I don’t care about that, though. We march and push hard, but there is no way of telling time. When we hit the first nav point, the lead pushes the small portable guidance system against the sensor that is partially buried there and we are registered as completed the first leg. It also loads the next coordinates in. They are different from those the second group receives, and they disappear into the dark as they head off.

I am in the traces pulling. We have two people out front checking the path, using poles to check the ground so we don’t going through the ice, hopefully.

We make it a few hundred meters on toward the next point when someone collapses.

That’s it; we were all done for now. I sigh. We set up the tents, anchor down the sleds and settle in for a meal. It is brutally cold. Several of the guys left most of their clothes on after we set up. The more daring of us only took off a scarf or face mask while we were in the shelter of the tent. We all know how important it is to strip down and get rest but it is just too cold. When I open my bag for a change of clothes I found out that everything that we’d put in the small backpacks we are carrying has frozen solid.

Even in the cold-weather sleeping bags and with the little stoves going, we are cold. We don’t trust the stoves not to burn the tent down so we leave two people on watch and do two-hour shifts.

Then we get up, repack everything, and have to break the sleds free from the ice that they have frozen to. We carry on but don’t make it as far as we did the previous day. A bunch of the guys are freezing cold and just want to go for a short time. We make it to the second marker and then make it halfway to the third point when we have to set up again.

I don’t think we’re making much over a kilometre a day here.

We weren’t told how many navigation points there are. Some of us are arguing that there are only four and others argue that there are likely ten or more.

It doesn’t matter to me. I’m cold, miserable, tired and hungry. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep moving. The arguments are bad, but we settle in and are going to try to push through two or more navigation points the next day.

It’s the same the next day. We make it to the navigation point, and then go a bit farther past it.

When we had made it to this navigation point, there were people waiting there for us. One person just dropped his stuff and walked over to them and then they all left. We had just lost our first person.

Tonight, when we set up, we lose another person.

In the morning we lose another. She’s crying and just won’t do anything and then she hits her button.

This has been the hardest day of all, as our section only has seven people left and there are fewer breaks for those who can use one.

Even worse, I don’t know anyone in this section. We’ve all been broken up. My past section members were characters and I knew to look at their strengths and how to help their weaknesses from observation.

These people are all new and no one wants to talk.

By the end of the day we’ve lost another person and are suffering with only six people in the section. We have lost people and now the stove watch is longer.

We all seem to have or have had frostbite.

The next morning, we realize it’s likely going to be our last. We only make it four hundred metres. We don’t even make it to the next navigation point before someone pushes the button.

We spend the rest of the day packing everything into one sled. There are five of us the next day and we carry on.

When we arrive at the location, there is no sensor suite.

The nav device starts flashing and a message scrolls across the screen: “Set up tent and wait.”

We do that. It takes us forever. We are exhausted and double- and triple-check everything.

We climb into the tent and set up for food.

We all collapse, but still have a stove watch.

In the morning, we eat breakfast and check our stores. We are low on everything.

There is no real argument about whether to pack and move on or stay. We don’t have the energy.

When the nav lights up and announces that we need to pack, it crushes us. No one is talking unless it’s to ask for assistance in packing or to tell people to get food.

We abandon the camp and huddle up to see what the nav wants. The direction is east and the distance is three hundred meters. Then a timer activates. We have three hours.

None of us really care, but we try. With frozen limbs and the inability to see more than a few feet ahead, we carry on.

We make it. We’re walking dead people, but we make it. The directions bring us back to the big bunker and we make it in through the large door. As soon as the door closes it feels hot and stifling. We are the second group in.

The staff is sitting there drinking coffee. They tell us to unpack our equipment and clean up.

We stagger through the paces. More groups come in over the next few hours. We aren’t awake for the last few. As soon as our gear is put away satisfactorily for the staff, we jump into the cots that are lining the walls and we fall asleep.