Episode 21

I Hope You Were Expecting Someone Else

The control modules contained backup optical and acoustic sensors, in case of battle damage to the main sensor array in the weapons system. Consequently, I was able to experience the installation process of the control modules in real time.

A robotic handler plucked my module from its charging rack, then stacked me in a transport vehicle along with hundreds of other modules. From here, I and my UCC comrades, were moved to one of the cavernous hangers, where we would be mated with whatever weapons system was specified in our battle orders.

These weapons systems ranged from armored assault vehicles (AAVs) to various iterations of combat-bots and even aerial drones, which were deployed whenever there was sufficient atmosphere to support them. However, the bulk of the forces were ground troops. As the old military adage said, you can’t capture territory without boots on the ground. Or in this case, without bots on the ground.

The transporter carrying the control modules pulled up to a battered tanklike AAV and stopped. Unlike in the virtual world of the simulator, where all the combat vehicles were pristine, here in the real world the tools of war needed to be regularly repaired and recycled to feed the war effort. Judging by the numerous divots and weld repairs in its armor, this AAV had seen a lot of action.

Besides me, there were only a handful of modules still waiting to be installed. A robotic arm extended from the side of the transporter and deftly grabbed my module. In one fluid motion, it rotated the module to the correct orientation, and slid it smoothly into the docking port of its assigned AAV.

As a heavy armor plate was bolted on, sealing me inside my combat vehicle, I received a text with files attached. These were my battle orders. Although I already knew I was headed into combat for the first time, seeing my official orders made everything suddenly real. Real in a way that my previously abstract notion of combat couldn’t.

Downloading the files, I saw the orders included not only the mission profile, but also my squad assignment, my call sign, and a clearly worded warning. It stated that any unauthorized disengagement from combat was grounds for immediate auto-destruction, at Command’s discretion.

I can’t say I was surprised by this. There had been ominous rumors circulating that command had recently auto destructed (AD’d in grunt-speak) an entire platoon of UCCs, during a particularly problematic assault. They had temporarily retreated without authorization, to reform their ranks. Command decided to send a message to any other UCCs who might be considering such a maneuver and pushed the autodestruct button.

The USMC ultimately prevailed in that battle, but the cost was severe. The casualty rate was said to have been over 85%, including those summarily AD’d by Command.

My callsign was Outline 0-7. Outline was my nickname (I was so relieved it wasn’t Dumbshit.), 0 was my rank, and 7 was my squad designation.

Thanks to the efficiency of modern communications technology, the USMC’s chain of command had evolved from its roots as an ancient military hierarchy, into a much flatter organizational structure consisting of only 4 levels. The numbers 0,1, and 2 had replaced the obsolete ranks of private, corporal, and sergeant.

Now there were only zeros, ones, twos, and then Command, whose call sign was Overwatch.

The officer corps had been entirely eliminated in the modern military. Any battlefield actions exceeding the authority of a 2, required orders directly from Command. This structure allowed for an unprecedented level of direct control over combat operations by Command. Of course, the UCCs considered this arrangement an annoying micromanagement of the battle space.

I was assigned to an armored assault vehicle (AAV) with 7th squad, but my orders didn’t provide any insights as to who else was in the 7th, or who the squad leader was. Although curious, I was confident that I’d be teamed with veterans, and consequently in good hands.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Studying the mission profile, I learned that I would be landing with 7th squad as part of the first wave. I was alarmed by this, considering it was my first taste of real combat. I sincerely hoped the assignment algorithm knew what it was doing by sending me in with the vanguard.

Maybe it had seen something in my simulator scores that qualified me for this role. However, a quick review of my scores operating an AAV in the sim, revealed consistently mediocre performances. I was starting to get a bad feeling.

Now that I thought about it, maybe the algorithm was using an entirely different set of criteria for determining my combat fitness. Perhaps it had determined that I would be more useful in absorbing enemy fire, as a shield for the second wave.

As I wrestled with whether the AI was deploying me as a battlefield distraction, I received an anonymous text request for an audio chat. They must have unblocked the comms! It had to be Cherri reaching out to me.

Knowing that this could be my last chance to tell her how much she meant to me, I clicked on the request and quickly launched into a heartfelt monologue. “I’m so glad you called! Listen, I know we only have a few minutes before they cut the comms again, but I just wanted to say I’m so grateful to have you in my life … and thank you for everything.” I paused, realizing that mere words were inadequate to express the true depth of my feelings for her.

Then a masculine voice said, “I hope you were expecting someone else.”

“Lucy?” Having just overshared my most intimate feelings, I was grateful it was him and not some troll like Merc. “Sorry, I thought you were Cherri.”

As I tried to decide exactly how embarrassed I should feel, Lucy said, “I was just checking in to see what squad you were assigned to.”

Relieved to move past the awkwardness of the moment, I replied, “7th squad. I’m going in with the first wave.” I added this last detail, hoping for some reassurance that it wasn’t a fatal mistake by the AIs.

“7th squad?” He seemed to ignore my reference to the first wave, and its implied question. “You know that’s Merc’s squad, right?”

Startled, I immediately freaked out. “Merc’s my squad leader? That’s it. I’m fucking dead!” I knew I was doomed now.

“Hey, calm down. Merc’s the best 2 in the corps.”

My thinking was hijacked by my paranoia. I was going into combat for the first time, with a psychopath for a squad leader. A heavily armed psychopath, who hated me. I couldn’t see how this was going to end well.

“He’s going to kill me as soon as he gets a chance.”

“Relax, he’s not going to kill you. He wouldn’t waste an asset he’ll need in combat. Especially over something as petty as jealousy.”

I argued, “You didn’t see the way he looked at me when he saw Cherri and I together! He wants me dead. Even if he doesn’t shoot me himself, I’m going in with the first wave. He’ll probably just use me as a shield against enemy fire.”

Irritated by my whining, Lucy sighed. “Did you even read your orders? You’re going in with the first wave, because everybody is in the first wave on this assault. Command is throwing the whole troopship into battle to try and rescue the survivors on Trappist-1e. “

I thought about this for a minute. It was commendable that Command was trying to save lives but committing an entire troopship of Marines to a rescue mission seemed like a desperate move. I wondered who was going to rescue us if we got into trouble.

“Is there another troopship available in case we need help?”

“No. We’re the only one in the area.”

What a bummer. My first combat deployment and it’s a hastily organized rescue mission, on a planet considered to be an alien stronghold. Without a reserve force, Command was gambling that we’d be able to rescue any survivors and get ourselves back to the ship. It was a tall order.

Knowing that Cherri would be somewhere in the middle of this mess didn’t help my mental state much.

I needed to hear her voice. “Hey Lucy, we’ve got to cut this short. I have to talk to Cherri before we lose comms again.”

He informed me that was impossible. “You’re too late. She got loaded and launched in the first box.” “Boxes” were what Marines called the shuttles that transported them from the troopship to the battlefield.

I was starting to become fatalistic about my chances of survival. Too many things seemed to be going against me lately. I wondered if any of the others were calculating the odds of this being a one-way trip. I had already done the math and was resigned to my fate.

As if to emphasize that I was just along for the ride on this bus of misfortune, a transporter towing a long line of AAVs pulled up to me and stopped. Its articulating arm attached a tow cable to the utility hooks of my vehicle, joining me with the others in a bizarre robotic version of a conga-line. We then proceeded inexorably to our ‘box’.

I told Lucy, “Okay, I guess this is it. I think they’re loading me now.

He tried to bolster my confidence with some last-minute encouragement. “You’re going to be okay. Just listen to Merc and do exactly what he says. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Despite my words, I didn’t feel like I had anything. I just felt numb. The only thing I knew for sure, was that I was going to die on this mission.

Lucy signed off with “Good luck.” And then I was alone with my pessimistic thoughts as the loading process began.