0
0
Fan link copied
+0
Sergeant Miryam Hadik pushes the old wooden door of the bathroom open and stumbles back to his barstool. As he sits down, the bartender makes to pour him another whiskey.
“Leave the bottle,” Miryam growls. The bartender is used to veterans and their drinking sprees and leaves it without comment.
Miryam rests his head on his arm and stares over the rim of his glass through the half-empty whiskey bottle. His eyes try to focus on the picture behind the bottle.
A golden horizon showes, with blooded earth beneath it. In the centre, a fierce young marine in full planetary combat armour with his rifle pointing forward. The image is evident in his mind, even if not so for his eyes. It is him in the picture, him, the man he once was.
He tries to remember the young marine before that first and fatal time that his finger pulled the trigger.
He can still feel the shaking of the landing module as it enters Mitrin Prime’s atmosphere. Four people in the Delta Tango, as the Corp calls the drop tank. Call sign, Eagle Team, hurrah. Compliment: specialist Miryam Hadik, exobiologist Anina Clem, planetologist Kim Lee and Seargeant Bob Foster. Mission: To protect the science team from dangerous flora and fauna during planetary exploration.
As he checks and rechecks his gear, the Delta Tango is hit; more shaking. Anina screams something he can’t make out. His world is upside down, and his stomach heaves. With a force of will, he closes his helmet and activates his combat drop suit.
He looks at his sergeant, who tries to smile at him as he struggles to activate his own suit. Then they are hit again, and all goes black. It was his first drop, his first time on a new planet, and he is coming in unconscious and at high speed.
He takes a sip from his whisky to try and clear the image, spilling half the drink across his chin and tunic. But the memory won't leave him. He lies staring at the yellow and gold sky of Mitrin Prime. His heads-up display is red, showing multiple alarms but no breaches.
His suit had auto-activated the entry chute and absorbed the impact with no injuries.
A searing pain shoots through his body as he tries to move—maybe no injuries, but enough bruises to keep him horizontal on any other day.
“This is Overhead to Eagle Team. We have registered an uncontrolled descent; what is your status, over?” The voice drilled into his skull with surprising volume, making him lose consciousness for a second. When he opens his eyes again, his HUD is already counting down to auto-activate his emergency beacon.
“This is Eagle Four…; we’ve been hit.” With effort Miryam suppresses a cry of pain. “I repeat, Eagle Team is down, requesting CASEVAC. Over.”
“What’s the status of your team, Marine? We are getting unclear bio readings up here. Over”.
“I’m not sure, sir, I have no visual.”
“Are you incapacitated, Marine?”
“No, sir”.
“Then get a fucking move on. You have a job to do; get your fucking ass into gear and secure your LZ. We need a medical assessment level for your CASEVAC asap, out.”
The words of his CO coming down from orbit shock him into action, Miryam struggles off the ground and locates his combat rifle. As his fingers curled around the grip of his rifle, he feels his training kick in.
He drops to one knee and begins a perimeter scan for potential dangers.
The hill he had been lying on was the impact crater from their crash. The Delta Tango was in pieces, and he spotted the two scientists' corpses still secured to their seats but bent at impossible angles.
His Sergeant was a little further, half covered underneath his chute. Making big scanning arcs with his rifle, he moved on to the sergeants's position.
He could discern no immediate danger as he went down on one knee, their suits connected as he held his arm next to the sergeants'. It showed minimal vital signs, and time to evac for survival showed forty-five mikes.
“Eagle four to Overhead, over.”
“This is Overhead.”
“Eagle one is alive, two and three are down. Forty-five mikes to bingo life.”
“That’s a solid copy, Eagle Four. Delta Tango is in the tube. ETA is thirty-five mikes. We have movement to your east, marine. Secure the LZ at all costs; weapons are free. Intel says takedown was hostile, confirm, over.”
“Weapons free, possible hostiles from the east, understood. OUT.”
Miryam takes his rifle off safety without thinking about it, engageses his aim assistant, and hunches down next to his sergeant. He tries to control his breathing as he watches the seconds tick away in his HUD.
His heart was beating in his chest. He was alone on an alien planet with hostiles bearing down on his position. Breathe, aim, fire. He repeated his mantra as the first alien head came over the crater ridge. He squeezed, and the head was gone. Another head, squeeze and gone. Three more tried to advance on his position before they retreated.
Five deaths in ten seconds, if he had only waited those seconds. It haden taken navy intel ten years to figure those deaths had been envoys not combatants come to apologise for the accidental takedown of the Delta Tango. Decades of war, death and destruction because he pulled the trigger. The hero from the picture that Sergeant Foster’s helmet took was a lie. A lie repeteaded and repteaded on every Marine Crop poster.
“A LIE!” he shoutes and almost falls from his chair.
“No, sergeant, it’s true. There is peace.” The bartender says with joy.
“Not for me,” Miryam mumbled under his breath. “Not for me.” He runs out of the bar into the night.
Copyright 2023 - SFS Publishing LLC
Not For Me
A future can be decided in seconds and decades