“Who’s gonna do the infil to get to the ship?” asked Chief Cook, who was the main Voodoo rep for briefings. Stinkeye couldn’t be bothered because there was most likely a card game going on somewhere. And Nether bothered everyone too much with the surrealism of his incorporeal presence to attend.
I had a pretty good idea who was gonna do the infil. It rhymed with deeper.
“Reaper. Captain’ll be takin’ ’em in on this one,” barked the First Sergeant proudly like he was handing us a real plum assignment. “They gotta get a move on fast once we top off with the special weapons the captain is out getting. He and the Monarch will be taking Reaper in through the Crash itself. They gotta retrieve something else deep inside the wreck just for the Monarch. Part of the deal and everyone does their part. That’s how the company works.”
Amarcus muttered something about my platoon being barely capable of being errand boys.
“What’s that, Sergeant Hannibal?” asked the First Sergeant, knowing full well the story of bad blood between his two platoon sergeants.
“Nothing, First Sergeant.”
The old NCO shook his head in barely concealed contempt.
“Whatever it is… we ain’t got time for it on this one. I’ll tell ya, kids. This is about as close as it gets. I been in some tight spots before and if this ain’t one I don’t know what is. So keep it tight out there and remember we’re all Strange Company. We get our boys off this one, then you two can go at each other with knives and I’ll sell tickets for everyone to watch.”
The mention of knives reminded me my index finger was in the ring of my karambit. It always goes there when Amarcus is around. It’s always ready. I’m always ready. We have a date whether the First Sergeant likes it or not.
Whether I want it that way or not ain’t important. That’s the way it is. And it’s just best to be ready about it. File that under being honest about things.
Funny, I thought to myself. How it does that. My finger through the ring of the karambit. I didn’t look at my enemy as the First Sergeant scolded us. Just reminded myself that when it went down between Amarcus and me it would go down fast and I needed to make it real quick. Amarcus Hannibal was a brutal brawler. He’d pop my skull and gouge out my eyeballs with his thumbs if he got the chance. I had no doubt about that. Half of one even.
I had my moves down pat to kill him as fast as possible with a sharp knife. Because that’s all I was gonna get. I had no doubt about that either.
The hatch to the crawler opened and let in a blast of hot orange light, gusting wind, and sand. It closed and there was the captain and the Monarch.
“I’ve given them the basics, sir,” announced the First Sergeant in his usual grand fashion. “They know what they gotta do and they’re gonna do it.”
The captain looked around at us with his perpetually cruel and tired face. Cruel because an injury had made it that way. Tired because command never stopped. Never took a break. Never didn’t need some fire to be put out with too little retardant and a lot more boot leather than was on hand.
He shrugged out of the ancient leather trench coat that always wrapped his spartan frame, a thing I could never remember seeing him do. He was always wrapped in it like he was always cold and dying of some bone-deep plague. Dead blue eyes watched us all. The scar that ran down his face was livid and almost the same color of his iron-gray hair.
Then he gave us the order. The actual op order. Breaking it all down how it was gonna go. How we were gonna do everyone who stood in our way and get off-world. From situation, to mission, to execution. Then command and signal.
Everyone had it tough. That couldn’t be disputed.
I wouldn’t have wanted what Amarcus and Dog Platoon was gonna face, for sure. Basically, an attack in force through fortified streets pacing just ahead of the crawler. Amarcus would have all the indirect and sniper fire he could do, allocated for priority tasking. So that told me the captain and the First Sergeant expected it to be real rough for Dog in there. The First Sergeant was going forward with that team. Dog and Ghost. Ghost on overwatch. Fighting a running battle to take the bank.
“We have to recover the contents of Box 88, Sergeant Hannibal. SOP. Everyone knows the mission. That is the mission. You buy it on the way in, or afterwards, I need one of yours to link up with me for those contents. That is not an option. I’m dead, give it direct to the next in command.”
I noticed he was looking at our Monarch as he said this last bit. Letting her know he was making sure the terms of the deal would be abided by. No matter what. She’d get her prize. We’d get off-world.
Freedom. This wasn’t about that. This smelled like her getting something that would give her an advantage over someone else. That’s all this was. Lies. And more lies.
“Reaper…” The Old Man was looking at me. “We’re going in through the Crash. We have some new weapons and munitions. I dropped those with your ASL when I came in, Sergeant Orion. He’s distributing now. High-power AP for
