say.” He saluted, and said, “Good luck, Harris.”
Moffat and I left the admin area without speaking a word. Originally I had hated this man, now I found some form of sympathy for him. He was fighting to save his wife, not just to advance his career.
As the glass doors closed behind us, Moffat said, “Just keep out of my way, Harris. I’ve dealt with assholes like you before.”
“No, you haven’t,” I said. “Not like me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Since the early days of the Unified Authority, the colonies had always been a great melting pot. In an effort to prevent boundaries being drawn along racial lines, the U.A. government forcibly mixed peoples of all nationalities in the various colonies. As the government got to decide who went to which planet, racial division was virtually eliminated by fiat.
The government, however, allowed a few churches to establish colonies as well. These colonies were not as closely regulated as the ones founded by the government. If the rumors were true, the Catholic Church still had priests of purely Italian descent. Unless they were clones, those priests had to have come from Italian parents. The government did not need to worry about the priests extending their race, however, since they had all taken an oath of celibacy.
Ray Freeman descended from a long line of Neo-Baptist colonists, men and women of African-American descent. Freeman’s dark skin and huge size intimidated people. He stood a hulking seven feet tall with a heavy and powerful physique, the build of a blacksmith, not an athlete. He had so many scars along the back of his head that hair could no longer grow there even if he did not shave his head bald.
Freeman’s eyes were clear and white and set far apart. His irises were as black as a starless sky; they were the only truly black part of his body. His skin was the dark brown of ebony.
Freeman was brilliant, deadly in battle, and utterly ruthless. Despite his Neo-Baptist upbringing, he never showed remorse.
“It’s about time you got here,” Freeman said, as I climbed from the back of the truck.
“You knew I was coming?” I asked.
“Philips told me.”
I was the last man off the truck. Freeman and I watched as Philips and Thomer led the rest of the platoon across the landing strip, where three helicopters waited—two personnel carriers and a gunship escort. The men formed a line and waited for my orders.
“I didn’t know you and Sergeant Philips were friends,” I said.
Freeman ignored this comment. He probably did not like the connotation of the word “friend.” His life had room for allies, partners, and people who employed him, but no one came any closer than that.
Before leaving base, we were issued white-coated combat armor instead of the dark green we normally wore. In the snowy forests, the white armor would provide better camouflage. Around the plowed streets of Valhalla, however, the armor could not have been more visible if it had been painted red and dotted with a bull’s-eye.
The three aircraft were also painted white. They also stood out when environed by the city.
“I saw Admiral Brocius,” I said. “He says you made a deal with him to get your family off Little Man.”
Freeman nodded. “He and I are square.”
“Where are they now?” I asked, as we headed toward the helicopters. “Are they safe?”
I felt a strange pang in my gut when I thought of Freeman’s family. The only time I had ever felt something that might have been love was for Freeman’s sister, a single mother with a teenaged son. Her name was Marianne. Her son was Caleb. Marianne and I might have had a romance, but our relationship ended prematurely. I still thought about her from time to time.
“They’re as safe as they can be in this galaxy. Brocius relocated them here.”
“New Copenhagen?” I asked.
“It was the best Brocius had to offer,” Freeman said, as we reached my men.
“Sergeant Thomer, what is the status of the platoon?” I asked, when we reached the helicopters.
Standing at attention, Thomer yelled, “All men are present and accounted for, sir.” It was formal, the Marine Corps answer to a minister welcoming his congregation to church, but discipline was a facet of Marine life that could not be ignored. I had fought with some of these men, but others were new to me. If we went into battle without going through the formalities, the new ones might get the wrong idea and think I did not care much about discipline.
“Very good, Sergeant,” I said. “Load the men on the choppers.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Thomer yelled. He was a quiet man but also a by-the-book Marine. Freeman and I waited for Philips and Thomer to direct the platoon onto the choppers, then we climbed in. Including Freeman and me, we had forty-four men.
Assuming Naval Intelligence interpreted the aliens’ simulation correctly, the invasion would take place today. Data from past attacks suggested the lights would appear in the early evening. That was the Pentagon’s best estimate. What we gleaned from our long string of losses was that the lights generally started near the largest city on the planet and almost always in a northern region of that planet. The brains at the Pentagon might not have the slightest clue about what would happen next; but when it came to where and when the invasion would begin, they had it down.
I wanted to see when and where the enemy landed and watch for any vulnerable moments. Would they have their weapons drawn when they first appeared? Would they arrive in formation? Did they have protection when they landed, however they landed? I wanted to see if we could surprise them behind their lines and maybe end this fight early with a well-timed bomb. If we managed to hold out against the first wave of their attack, maybe we could bring a division out to greet them the next time they arrived.
For this little field trip we would travel in helicopters. No bulky transports for us, just sleek atmospheric vessels. The rotary blades on the top of the choppers made a suppressed
As we took off, I looked around the well-fortified city of Valhalla. Even from here I could see batteries of rocket launchers, gun emplacements, and troops …lots and lots of troops. It was late afternoon. The sky no longer looked white as paper. It had turned blue and orange as the sun slid toward the horizon. I had my armor on, but not my helmet, and the cold air stabbed imaginary needles into my cheeks.
“We’ll put up a good fight,” I said as I watched an armored column roving outside the landing-field gate.
Freeman did not respond.
The three helicopters formed a caravan, the gunship leading the way, with the two choppers remaining side by side behind it. Some of my men sat quietly, staring out the portholes, studying the landscape below. The forests ahead were cold and full of shadows.
I donned my helmet and checked the ocular controls. From here on out, I would see everything through the lenses of my visor. Marine combat armor had night-for-day lenses, heat-vision lenses, automatic tint shields that protected against blinding light, and farseeing telescopic lenses. The equipment also included sonic locators, smart tags for identifying personnel, and interLink communications gear. General-issue armor would not stop a bullet or absorb a particle beam, but the bodysuit would keep me comfortable even on a long march through the snowy woods.
Though he was not a Marine, Freeman had been fitted for armor as well. Where they found a suit that could fit him, I had no idea. His chest and shoulders had to be eighty inches around; his biceps might have been a full twenty-five inches.
“What’s the plan?” the pilot asked me over the interLink, as I settled in.
“First, we’re going to kill time until we know where to go,” I said. “It might be an hour, maybe more. You see that forest? In a little while some bright lights are going to appear out there.”
“And there’s going to be an army of aliens out there, too,” the pilot commented.
“First the lights, then the aliens. Take my word for it. The Marine Corps has experience with these things,” I said. The pilot was Navy. Navy chopper pilots tended to be a bit more skittish than Marine Corps pilots in these
