Infinity Squad (26 page)

"Yes. And now we can return to the outpost, to make sure they do not approach us. I may even send twenty hunters, to perform a 'March to the Sea' as Sherman did. The other clan is spread thinly. Portions of them can be easily cut off from their hunting grounds, weakening them. A strong push may cause a revolt against their leader." Red-Stripe looked thoughtful. "We may even do a Blitzkrieg."

Oh fuck, what had I done? Would my teachings tip some delicate Spider balance and lead to a horrible, destructive- ahhhhh, whatever. I had enough responsibility keeping base politics straight; I didn't have time to worry about spider politics, too. Red-Stripe was an adult. Better to just focus on the opportunities.

"So you're saying there won't be any hunting parties crossing the valley for a while?"

"Correct. It will take many days to march our hunters north over the mountain and Blitzkrieg the neighboring clan."

I smiled. "Perfect."

The kneeling farmers fired their rifles freely at the line of trees we had marked with paint, most of them hitting home. They were definitely getting better. Zazlu and Juan paced around the edges of the firing line, flamethrowers at the ready. We knew there wouldn't be any Hell-Spiders around but we didn't need an ambitious lightning snake or boazelle harshing our buzz. Ann-Marie walked along behind the firing line, giving tips to those still missing the tree trunks at a hundred yards. I stood even further back with Tornier, both our rifles slung low.

I nodded at the firing line. "Sure you don't want to join them? We won't get another chance like this for a while."

"I think I'm good enough with this by now," he said, patting his rifle, then spitting. "Used it the other day to pick off one of those tree-monkeys that was trying to climb over the fence. Had a big, sharp nasty stinger just like you said it would. Didn't want it getting around the kids. How come only your squad seems to know about all the animals on this deadly planet?"

I smirked. "We had a good teacher."

"And how come only your squad is the only one who's teaching us how to survive here? Helping train us how to defend ourselves?"

"Because we're the only squad that doesn't want to be here forever."

Tornier looked at me up and down with his sun-squinted eyes, then nodded. "Fair enough." He spat again.

"How are your crops coming along?"

Tornier shrugged. "The wheat died right away, but we figured it would, being so wet. Same with tomatoes. But the New Zealand spinach is taking. That'll grow in anything. And the local pests won't touch it, just like back home. So we may have something there. Jury's still out on corn."

"That's good," I said. "We can't bring all our food through the gate forever."

We watched the farmers fire away at the trees for another few seconds, then Tornier said, "Thanks again for doing this. I just hope it doesn't get you guys in trouble."

"Jinx hid our flight path pretty well after we picked you up. There are a thousand lies I can give for why we landed in the farmland first. We should be ok-."

"Lieutenant Jonah FORREST," a voice blared inside my head. Clearer than a Spider- what the hell? Then I recognized it. Oakley. The emergency channel. The implants. "Report to my office at once."

All of the squad were holding their ears and looking at me as the message started again.

"Lieutenant Jonah-"

"Yes, I'm here!" I said, grabbing for my mike. "Message received! I'm pulling my entire squad back at once! Forrest out."

I covered my mike as Ann-Marie walked over, still rubbing her ears. "I hope that doesn't become a regular thing," she said, covering her mike as well.

I nodded. Had that been Oakley, or a recording? Had he heard our conversation? How much? What if he just started listening in at random intervals? We had fooled Hughes for one mission but couldn't play that game all the time. This boded poorly.

Jinx dropped the farmers off in their field then landed on the flightline, next to four shiny, brand new Apache attack helicopters. Literally shiny, because the crews were hand-washing them clean with soapy sponges and buckets. Because that mattered.

We stepped off our dusty, dented, mud-covered helicopter and walked up to the new ones. There was a six-barreled, heavy caliber chain gun sticking out the nose, made for piercing the armor of battle tanks and exploding them from the inside. Each helicopter had two stubby wings near its middle, and under each wing there were two pods holding sixteen shiny missiles each.

"Probably even heat-seeking," Zazlu said next to me.

I nodded. Just one of these choppers could wipe out Red-Stripe's entire village or the river snake in just one pass. And now we had four of them.

"Take them in, Zaz," I sighed. "I've got to go report to Oakley."

Oakley had a cute administration private in a decidedly shorter-than-regulation dress skirt as his receptionist and two BlackShirts with auto-shotguns as security. I got a cheerful smile from the busty receptionist and scowls from the burly BlackShirts' as I was buzzed in. I wondered whose pictures Oakley had spent more time looking over in the privacy of his office before hiring.

The inner office had a large executive desk and a thousand stupid awards and pictures of things that didn't mean a damn on this planet. There were pictures of Oakley meeting all sorts of brass at the Pentagon, politicians at the UN, and for some reason, him standing behind a Little League team. There was also a larger-than-necessary color picture of Oakley pinning the private's rank on the exact same smiling receptionist that sat three feet outside his door. That answered that question.

The people inside were equally ornamental. Oakley sat behind his desk, dress uniform immaculate as always, Hughes stood behind and to Oakley's right in his always-ready-to-run PT gear, and there was some bureaucrat I had never seen before in a pressed, tailored suit on the couch against the wall.

A bureaucrat in clothes that were actually stylish? And his shoes were too expensive for middle management but well broken in without showing any signs of wear. Weird.

I also realized that, for all the show of security outside, the Colt .45 on my hip was the only weapon in the room.

I snapped to attention in front of Oakley's desk. "General, sir!"

"Come right from the field, Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir."

"Try to take a minute to wipe your feet next time."

I followed his gaze behind me and saw the small trail of dirt I had tracked onto his carpet. Carpet? Did everyone on base have that except for us?

"Yes sir."

"At ease. Sit."

I did. Hughes was giving me a rude smirk and the bureaucrat was ignoring me entirely, reading something on the digital pad resting on his crossed legs.

"Let's get the silly stuff out of the way first," Oakley said, pushing some forms at me. "I hereby award you the golden cross with oak clusters, for meritorious service in action against the enemy on Angie's Star II. With regards from a grateful planet, et cetera, et cetera."

I took the printed piece of paper. It had a picture of the medal on it above my name and barcode number.

"This, of course, is for your efforts in clearing valley 1X5J," he said, putting the folder away.

Oh shit. "They gave me a MEDAL for that?"

"Yes. And for the other squad leaders as well. We held their official awards ceremony in the cafeteria an hour ago. All First Lieutenants and their seconds will receive a bump in pay grade and a permanent mention in their service records. All enlisted will receive the mention and elevated consideration for OCS."

Double shit. None of those other fools had learned anything worth promoting from their time in the valley. Which we only cleared because I could do a good Flores impression. How far was this one little lie going to ripple out?

As that idea swam through my head, I became aware that the bureaucrat was looking intently at me. As if my face was giving away all my thoughts. Oakley couldn't read me worth a damn, but some desk humper from Earth could? Who was this guy?

"But more importantly, Lieutenant," Oakley said, drawing my eye back to him, "the issue today is what to do about the actions of Infinity Squad since First Lieutenant Ridley was killed in the field."

I stiffened. "Our actions since then should speak for themselves, sir."

Oakley grimaced. "Yes, let's see. 135 reported Hell-Spider contacts, 15 firefights, 41 reported kills and 23 skulls collected. A markedly different pace than your 0 contacts, 0 firefights, 0 reported kills record of the previous month."

He looked at another sheet of paper. I saw a flash of charts and tables, expertly prepared. "Over the same time period, all other squads have reported a 15 to 100 percent
decrease
in contacts, firefights and kills, and yet we have cleared a huge swath of territory ahead of schedule. A combination of numbers that
some
have told me is statistically impossible."

It was quick, but I caught it- Oakley had wanted to look at the bureaucrat as he had said that last line, but he had forced himself not to. But he had shaded his body towards the man. The source of the statistics.

Without being obvious I looked him over again. He was extremely clean cut. His jet black hair was trimmed so neatly I could imagine each hair being cut by hand. He wore wire-rim glasses, precise and sharp. He looked to be of Spanish descent, old world from Spain, not south of the border like Juan.

So he was good with numbers? But from his wiry body and the alert but relaxed way he sat, I couldn't imagine the bureaucrat spending hours and hours behind a desk. Who
was
this guy?

"So how do you explain that, Lieutenant?" Oakley asked me.

From the scowl on his face I knew this wasn't the time to be flippant. So I scrolled though my dialogue options and choose the least sassy one.

"Michael Jordan won six NBA championships in 8 years. Some would have called that statistically impossible too."

Hughes almost choked. "You're comparing your sack of weak-kneed, useless misfits to Mic-"

"Easy, Sergeant Major," the General chuckled, then gave me that stupid cocky grin of his. "Well, Lieutenant, we're going to give you the chance to prove it. From now on, every time you take Infinity Squad members outside the security fence, you will take an equal number of officers and soldiers from one of the other squads. You are going to teach your magic secrets to all the rest of us."

I felt my armpits start to sweat.

It was going to be impossible-
impossible
- to operate as we had been with Immortal goons breathing down our backs. Or Omegas or Second Chancers. Even if the spiders talked only to us. We wouldn't be able to get away with ANYTHING.

A gravelly voice interrupted my thoughts. "Group of Trees."

Not now, Three-Spot!

"They have begun to poison me. I sensed it in the one who brought this food into my cell."

So don't eat it!

"Very well."

"Nothing to say, Lieutenant?" Hughes said, his bald, black head wrinkling as he showed me his teeth. "I guess you approve of my plan?"

I addressed my answer to Oakley. "One, we're not taking those Apaches on patrol- they make more noise than God. And two, out in the field, I'm king. The other squads do what I say when I say it or I shoot them and they wake up back in the res tanks."

The General blinked at me. "This is not a negotiation Lieutenant. You will teach the other squads to bring back as many skulls as you do or I will extend your entire squad's combat tour on this planet indefinitely!"

I pounded my finger down on his desk. "If you change our tactics now I guarantee you we won't bring back any skulls. Nor will anyone else. For a long time."

The bluff hung in the air. I stayed silent and motionless with my finger on the desk, and then Oakley bit. I saw him shade toward the visitor again, almost trembling as he fought not to look at him.

"Very well. No Apaches- for now. And you lead the patrols. I'll have the order sent to the squad leaders. But TacOps will choose your patrol areas and you will leave first thing tomorrow morning. And you will bring me back ten skulls or there will be hell to pay! Dismissed. Now get the fuck out of my office."

I stood up and left, wondering how I was ever going to fix this, to keep Oakley and Red-Stripe happy while hiding the evidence of crimes that would get me sent away for twenty years. Every plan we had made for the last month was in tatters.

And the bureaucrat hadn't even said a word.

***

Chapter Ten

We were fucked, we knew that. The question was, how fucked. That's what Zazlu, Butcher and I were trying to work out at a table in the back of our barracks. Steve was up front teaching the privates how to treat symptoms of a concussion, keeping them busy.