Assault on Ambrose Station: A Seth Donovan Novel (6 page)

“I really only remember the sheer terror of it all.”

“I can imagine. We’re all veterans here, even me.” he said. There were several nods around the compartment. “One of the lessons we derived from your study, was the importance of muscle memory, of training becoming second nature.”

“Yeah, I was pretty much an automaton for most of it. Kill, hide, stalk, kill, hide. I don’t even know how many Ghantri I killed.”

“We do. Want to know?”

“No, thanks. I have enough nightmares.” That generated another round of nodding from the men.

“Do you mind if we go through some of the encounters? There are several tactics that we’ve yet to get a handle on, such as why you favoured the combat blade over energy weapons?”

“Figured that I’d need to save my batteries, or save them for a last stand.”

“A last stand that never came.”

“Hindsight is a bitch. It was usually quieter too.”

“When did you first think about escaping back to the blockade? At what point did you consider that you could make it back, when the thousands of other folk trapped in the system couldn’t?”

“I don’t know. It was always in my mind. As we watched our shuttle take off without us, those of us left never even considered that we couldn’t get home. We just kept looking for ways to get back.”

“Did you ever feel like surrendering?”

“To the Ghantri? No. Did I consider slipping into the general populace and blending in with the refugees? Yes. I stayed away from them for that reason. As soon as I let up, I knew that it would be ten times harder to get myself motivated to get home again.” That brought a fresh round of nodding from the men. “I think I just set my sights on fresh targets each time I eliminated my current one. Set myself objectives, ones that were reachable. Each new objective brought me closer to my goal.”

“
Naga-zak
was smart.” agreed Kekkin, “Achievable objectives, even easy ones, are morale boosters. Warriors make progress, win war, not battle.”

It was then that I noticed that several of them had small field notebooks out and were scribbling into them.

“How did you identify where supplies were located? Food and water, especially?” asked Ormund.

“Water was easy. Ion drives use water for fuel. I’m a frontiersman and grew up on a ship. Learnt a lot about water lines and how to process the water so it’s potable. Food was a bit harder. Luck, mostly, got me through there.”

“Any insights you might have about Ghantri thinking?”

“Insights? They’re bloody savages. They walk around, they speak and they’re smart. Deep down inside, though, they are animals. They have some sort of social contract with the Jaani, and I think they treat them almost like pets. Kill them first, if you can. Drives them into fits of rage, but that makes them predictable. The Jaani might look harmless enough, but it was the Jaani who make their starships, maintain their weapons and defences and the Jaani who made it possible for the Ghantri Betrayal to work in the first place.”

A few looked at each other again, as if passing knowing glances.

Ormund nodded, “We haven’t tried that. We always saw them as civilians.”

“They might not pick up weapons, but they are most certainly not civilians. I think the Ghantri forbid them for picking up arms, even to defend themselves. They will attack you unarmed though, if they think they can kill you.”

“Fuckers, I knew it!” cried Harris.

Renthal turned to Ormund, “They killed Tucker. Lied to our faces and cowered like children and we bought it.”

“We had no way of knowing that.” said the Lieutenant. I had the feeling I was witnessing a prior argument resurface, clearly regarding the loss of one of their own.

“Well, from now on, Jaani are targets of opportunity.” declared Renthal.

“Stow it, Corporal!’ ordered Ormund, “I will not have my men firing blindly into unknown targets. You will consider them a threat at best. Use situational discretion while in the field. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” he snarled.

The conversation went on, after that. They traded war stories with me, and it was actually rather cathartic. These men had seen a fair deal of action, and suffered losses like any fighting unit. They bore scars that were physical as well as psychological, and they knew when we were encroaching on tender subjects. No one pressed for more information than was offered. They invited me to hang around for a while, going over past operations. It felt good, like I was part of the team, part of a unit again.

There is something that all fighting men share, something that veterans of any conflict carry within them, regardless of nation or planet. It’s hard to describe; it’s an understanding of the limits sentient men and women can go, mentally. The fortitude and mental endurance required to engage in wilful ending of life is something that can’t be taught, but must be learned if one is to survive a war. Many see veterans as proud people, proud of the death they caused. That is an unfair and inaccurate assessment. They are proud, not of death, but of life. Of their service, not their actions. Of their sacrifices, not their victories. They celebrate the lives that they shared with their fallen, and celebrate their comrades who faced death with them.

I loved my crew, my family aboard the Dreaming of Atmosphere, but I sometimes still felt an outsider among them. How could I explain the things that I had to do to survive, how could I expect them to understand? There was little finesse in how I had survived, just as there was none in how I disabled the Blade of Xerxes. I did terrible things. They accepted what I did because they had not been present. With these men, they accepted it and understood it immediately. My past was their present, and they
knew
the necessity with which I had fought and killed for.

These men were comrades, brothers in arms that had shed blood. Moreover, for some strange reason, they had accepted me as one of their own.

9.

I got back to the ship
very
late. I coped an earful off Maxine when I arrived. She had stayed up when I had not returned at the designated time and was a hairs breadth from sending someone out to find me. The rest of the crew were below decks, sound asleep, so Maxine could berate me all she wanted. I was in good spirits, if somewhat maudlin, but after the initial barrage Max noticed I was quietly accepting her tirade instead of arguing with her.

“What’s got into you?” she said at last, “Has something happened?”

“No, I just made some new friends. Apparently I’m something of a big deal among the Special Forces in this sector.”

“Well, you heard me when I said midnight, no exceptions. What am I supposed to do with you? Artemis came back half an hour late as well! If I can’t keep my crew disciplined I might as well be flying a Junker!”

“Hey, I’m sorry, Cap. I just lost track of time. I think it was important.” She took note of the look I gave her, and she instantly softened. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I am, actually.” I gave her a smile, “Got a new Garz’a name, their Sergeant calls me
naga-zak
. That should give Crege the chuckles. I also made some deals; I think we’re going to be all right. Talked with an engineering Chief, he seemed a swindler but he gave us a good deal with parts and supplies. Fuel for the thrusters is going to be a problem though. Apparently combat grade fuel is a big no-no on the station. He
thinks
he can get me a pipeline to what we need, I just have to scratch his proverbial back first.”

“What’s he got you doing?”

“Said I need to go check out a deal he’s trying to make with a collector. Go eyeball his stock and come back and let him know if it’s legit.”

“Why does he think you’d know? What is it?”

“My guess is that they’re Ghantri weapons.”

“Why is that special, or illegal?”

“When the Ghantri Betrayal occurred, they felt they had enough knowledge and resources to enact their plan. They were almost right, but some of their technology wasn’t stolen or bartered for. Their weapons are unique to the system. They don’t use the Prallgian-Kronnen Principle for energy manipulation, for one. They stole shield technology from the Protectorate and the Corporations who did business with them, but there is little defence against Ghantri designed guns beyond body armour.”

“So?”

“So the Protectorate considers them contraband. Having a Ghantri weapon on your person is pretty much like confessing to dealing with the Ghantri in person. They’re a collector’s item, and there’s always been a black market for that kind of thing.”

“Fuck him; we’ll get the fuel some other way.”

“I checked around. Chief Markum was right. Combat grade fuel is a high priority for logistics right now. I don’t think we’re going to get another chance to refuel, what with the withdrawal happening.”

“Tell me about that. Is the system safe?”

“For the moment it is. Depends on how long the Protectorate is planning to focus on the Eridani System. Lieutenant Ormund told me that there is something brewing in Gossamer, but so far all deep patrols have come up with is the usual headlong rush every so often.”

“Headlong rush?”

“The Ghantri get together in warbands and bolted together spaceships. When they think they have enough, they charge the blockade, try to damage the station or get through the Jump Gate.”

“To what end?”

“They believe that Ar’od Dar has given them a command, to spread the Great Web across the stars. They think that the key to expanding his influence is by reaching other star systems and burning them.”

“Ar’od Dar?”

“One of their deities. The nebula.”

“Oh, that eye sore.”

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.”

“Really? A great big bruise in the sky?”

“Each to their own. It features prominently in their mythology. It’s also the seat of power for the rest of their gods.”

“And how many invisible friends do these aliens have?”

“Technically, they’re not invisible. A couple of their planets and moons represent their gods.”

“Kind of like old Sol, Jupiter and Mars and so on?”

“Not really. Ancient humans named planets after deities, while the Ghantri believe their planets
are
their deities.”

“Right. Seems legit.” She gave me a funny look.

“That’s not very tolerant of you. I thought you’d be more accepting of other cultures, give your diverse travels.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t like a race of murderous, back stabbing, warmongering, superstitious people.”

“You don’t find it the least bit fascinating? Most cultures that reach a certain level of development leave behind notions such as religion and superstition. They see them as ever shrinking spheres of ignorance, as their questions about creation and life are answered by their gradual discovery of science and reason. Yet here we have an entire race of people who instead of casting aside tales of omnipotent creators and patrons remain firmly embraced in the doctrine.”

“I never knew you were an anthropologist.”

“How can anyone who travels as much as we not be?”

“You have got a point. I just don’t see the advantage in looking upon our enemies as something magnificent to witness.”

“You don’t have to think of them as such. However, we
must
learn about them. We
must
think like them. The Ghantri are the only ones who can tell us how to beat them. No one else can. They’re on display for all to see here, we need to find out what makes them tick. Why they do the things they do. Through understanding, we can predict them and defeat them.”

“That sounds like a training speech.”

“It was. The team leader of Naga Team said it to me. Apparently, they use my survival behind enemy lines to train their soldiers to fight the Ghantri. They think that there’s some wisdom in the way that I handled it. That there is a key to beating them.”

“You did something right. You came back alive. That has to count for something.”

I thought about that, “Then why doesn’t it feel right?”

“I don’t know, Donny. I’m just glad that you did come back.”

“So…am I going to be docked pay for getting back late?”

“Don’t be a dick. Go get some sleep.”

“Good night, Max.”

She left me alone then, to ponder my recent interactions and revelations. I gradually found myself entering my cabin, kicking off my boots into a corner and turning on the lights. There was a startled, annoyed gasp from my bunk, and I saw that Zoe had been asleep in my bed. She pulled the covers up over her head, and I turned the lights off again.

“Sorry.” I whispered, putting a satchel that Porter had given me on my meagre desk.

“You get in trouble off Max?” came the sleepy reply.

“Yeah. Slap on the wrist, though.”

“Captain’s favourite.”

“Ah, but you’re the Captain’s favourite’s favourite.”

I could see she had poked her head out from the covers, as my eyes had adjusted slightly. I switched on my desk lamp, which was barely enough to read by at the best of times.

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Does so.”

“What have you got there?”

“Apparently, these are weapon components for spec ops firearms. Know anything about these?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise. Did you have any trouble getting them?”

“Not really. I did meet some new friends though.”

“What kind of friends?”

“Vets.”

“Animal doctors?” she gave me a quizzical look.

“Veterans, dummy.” She tossed a pillow at me, which I easily caught. I climbed out of my jump suit and ran a quick shower. When I had finished, and slipped into my bedclothes, she was sitting up, attentive.

“How did that go down?” I could tell she was concerned, she knew very well about my past and my…illness.

“It was good, actually. They’re a great bunch of guys. Been through hell together.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I thought about it for a moment, “I think I’m good. It was very cathartic. We shared stories, but didn’t press for details. It was like we all shared just as much as we were willing to talk about ourselves.”

She smiled at me, “You had your first meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“Oh, yeah. Like what alcoholics and drug addicts have. Also survivors of disease, sufferers of ailments and soldiers who have seen too much. It’s one of the best ways to ease yourself back into society.”

“I think you’re right. It was very much like that.” I thought about it some more, and realised she was right. I chuckled to myself.

“What’s so funny?”

“They all study my story, my accounting I gave to the Protectorate when I returned. They use it to train soldiers here.”

“How did that make you feel?” I could see her adopt her listening pose, as I call it. She was a trained psychologist, and had helped me a lot to get through my post-traumatic stress. I sat down beside her on the bunk.

“At first it made me angry. I felt that they had betrayed the trust I had had in the Protectorate. It made me feel like they had used me, kind of like they were going to when they wanted me to parade around as their Hero of the Push. It was why I ended up mustering out of the Star Marines.”

“And now?”

“After talking with them, and letting them field questions to me, I knew that they needed some of the experiences I’d gained to survive here as well. I felt that I owed them that, at least. If it saved even one life, I’d tell it to them.”

“You’re starting to see your survival as a victory, not a defeat.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I understand. You still feel you failed your squad, making it back alive when they did not. Nevertheless, would they want you to tell your story, if it meant you could help them? Would things have gone differently for your squad if they had someone like you tell them about the Ghantri and their worlds?”

“I believe so, yes. I feel kind of duty bound now.”

“Old habits die hard.”

I climbed into bed next to her, enjoying the warmth of her body. I almost started to ask her about our future, about her future with us, but before I managed to gather up enough courage, I heard her softly snoring.

Next time, I promised myself.