“ETA fifteen to starport.”
The captain leaned back against the seat in the rear cargo deck opposite me. He looked tired as he gave me a thumbs-up.
We’d made it this far. Just a bit more to go.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The Kid told me his story during the last flight out of Dodgeistan. The last view of the science station near the Crash site was nothing but a sea of predators overwhelming everything like some grim foreshadowing of everything the Monarch had told me so far. Now I watched the clean desert pass beneath our hijacked Ultra dropship. Not even the best of the Ultras could have survived back there.
I watched Hoser put a found flight helmet on the Little Girl. Comically too bulky for her already giant head compared to her tiny, lithe, lollipop body.
We’ve never bought her a lollipop. Like you should for little girls whenever you have the chance. Girls love sugar. It’s a stand-in for love in the time of no love. Or at least the love they crave and cannot have or that will not give back. But then again, we’ve never passed a place that sold lollipops. We were too busy doing what we did. Which is war. And maybe those two don’t mix but I’d bet Choker would tell me they did.
I heard the captain making our plan to take the armored transport on the field once we hit the LZ. The Monarch would fly that one. Chief Cook, along with Hustle and Hoser, would stay aboard this one and make gun runs until Strange Company was aboard the larger transport and clear to depart. Choker was trying to fix the damage to Hauser, suffocating the burning white phosphorus incendiary rounds with packing gel. Some of the fragments were still smoldering in his synthetic flesh and metal frame. The medic was watching with ghoulish fascination as he did his work.
But that’s Choker. A war crime to the rest of the galaxy. A brother to the company. Bullets and lollipops.
“My story ain’t nothin’ special to anyone else, Sergeant.”
But it’s important to me, I could hear, reading his mind. It is, Kid. Even though the galaxy conspires every day to tell us all our stories aren’t important to the big turn of the wheel of the galaxy spinning about the hot central core. But I don’t say that. Best to listen. Too tired to do anything else. More to do in just a few minutes.
Listening to the chatter of the comm that the LZ we’re about to hit is gonna be lit.
“Just thought you should know it,” continues the Kid. “I’ve heard some others. From guys since I’ve been part of the company. But…”
He said nothing after that for a few seconds.
The dull hum of the comm waited between us. I was monitoring the captain’s orders. We were getting reports from the First Sergeant on the ground at the objective. Things were bad. Real bad. Bank hit went rough. Wounded. Sergeant Hannibal fighting a retreat to the airfield. Package in hand though. The Ultras have shown up and are dropping indirect fire all over the route as assault teams hit the perimeter from air cav.
One of the Ghost snipers has eyes on the armored transport we need to get the whole unit off-planet. “She looks like she’s getting ready for dustoff.”
This could be hopeless. If it leaves we’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do to people who are interested in explanations.
“Stay on mission,” said the captain over the comm like he was reading all of our thoughts. “We’ll find a way.” Pause. Dull hum of ether. Distant howl of the engines as Chief Cook pushes it to max throttle.
I smell the burning leaves of autumn on all the worlds I’ve ever been on. One in particular though. Or is that just the engines? The draft washing across the cargo and flight deck. And not the Wild Thing coming soon.
“There’s a way,” finishes the captain as we get ready to go.
I tap the Kid and give the hand signal to continue. Twirling two fingers tiredly. Old as time. Veteran to Kid. Old man getting older and taking the time to listen to the so real problems of the young. So important. So damn important back then when everything was life or death. The reasons you wanna die. The stands you make. The things you’re gonna have to live with whether you like it or not.
No one cares, Kid. But you don’t tell him the truth of that. You just listen. Old men listen.
Soldiers live and wonder why, right?
“So…” continued the Kid. “There’s a girl. I was straight crazy about her. I think she was crazy about me. Once. We were both at different schools. I’d already been in the local military. No combat. Now in university. We were… we were gonna get married. We had plans. Y’know, stuff you say when you’re in love and it’s like a secret no one else can know because it’s so good. See the galaxy together and do all that adventure stuff.”
Casualty report coming in from Dog. It’s not good.
I can see the sky and desert past the Kid. His face is haunted and blackened by smoke and gunfire. He’s different now. Different from whoever she thought he’d ever be. I think to myself, If she could see him now, would it matter? But I don’t know who she is. Haven’t heard the whole story. Then again, I’ve probably heard it before.
“Five minutes,” shouts Cook over the comm. Hustle stands and goes to the swing-mounted door gun. Hoser pats the Little Girl’s flight helmet and makes sure she’s good and strapped in. Then he goes to the other door gun. Checks it. Racks a round and runs through the traversing motion like he’s already looking for targets. He nods at the captain with a big smile. Get it on, he mouths silently. The Ma Deuce
