Chapter 2
Arrival
Private First Class Paul Miles had been stationed at the Serengeti rear base
for almost a month; it was his initial receiving post after he had left basic
training. He had received his transfer orders two weeks ago and he was now on
his way to the Sampson Forward base. The Sampson FWDB was located about 3 miles
outside of Apollo city, a relatively friendly place for Galactic Union soldiers.
It had a population of a bout 400,000 civilians and it was estimated that only
60,000 or so of them supported the Killmar ITPC alliance. There had been a
rather nasty firefight a few days ago between Galactic Union soldiers and
Killmar militants. The garrison of Sampson had
been in the thick of it all and gotten shot to shit in the process. The
closest reinforcements that were readily available to D company were from the
Serengeti rear base. The transport arrived at about 11:00 PM Titan Quadrant
Four time.
The Mark 3 light combat transport (Nicknamed Skimmers by Aviation) traveled
quickly along the surface of the Titan badlands, a place where the Iron Oxide
dust had been hardened into a gigantic steel plate by nuclear tests 90 years
earlier. The levels of radioactivity were considered safe by scientific
standards, but most men worried about there gonads when they were moving about
the general vicinity. Paul's transfer orders centered around a batch of
reinforcements that were destined for D company; that was the local garrison at
the Sampson FWDB. He had collected his gear a day earlier and had gotten
on the ship with his supposedly light-weight, 95-pound combat pack.
Skimmers moved at incredible speeds, upwards of 200 MPH very close to the
surface. This led itself to very effective means of quickly moving troops about,
but less effective crashes, which often led to the death of four or more
passengers. The sides were open and were armed with two .50 caliber machineguns.
The current contents of the rickety craft consisted of 42 troops and ammunition
for the base. Also contained on the craft were some very expensive
communications computers and a few heavy weapons. Paul wasn't familiar with
any of the other soldiers on the ship and he figured them to be fresh out of
basic training. While Paul had been on Titan for about a month, the closest he
had come to combat was the passing of what was left of the so-called meatloaf
that the mess hall was oh-so fond of serving.
The badlands slowly ended and the surface turned to the brownish Iron Oxide
deserts that made up about 75 of Titan. Off in the distance, Paul could see the
Sampson Forward base. It started as a black spot off in the horizon and slowly
progressed to a larger black dot with a notable shape to it. Without warning the
pilot of the Skimmer looked back from the cockpit into the cargo area and
shouted to the troops.
"Get your shit in order. We'll be arriving at the Sampson Forward Base in two
minutes."
Paul heeded the advice of the Pilot and looked to the seat next to him. In
it, instead of a person, was a large pack with a metal frame. He stood up in the
Skimmer and attempted to put his pack on, but the Skimmer hit a sand dune and
rocked violently (That was part of the reason they were named "Skimmers"). He
made the decision to put his bag on after they had landed. Paul himself was a
very outgoing kind of fellow. He was born and raised in a rough section of Mars,
but despite this he maintained his sunny disposition to life. He had fallen in
love with a woman named Julia at a young age and had gone to Titan with her
reluctant blessing. He was hoping to make enough money so that they could move
off of Mars, to someplace where they could settle down with each other, all he
had to do was survive. He had heard the stories, but never had he expected what
he was going to see in the next two years.
The Skimmer began to slow down and maneuver for landing at the base. Miles
attempted to don his pack once more only to be met with similar difficulties as
before. The Skimmer was now hovering over the landing pad and began to drop
slowly onto the pad. It finally made contact and the pilot once more stuck his
head into the cargo bay.
"Sampson Forward Base, last stop. Now get the fuck off my ship!"
Paul was suddenly alerted by the man's cantankerousness and quickly jumped
to his feet. He tried to disembark from the ship, and now regretted his decision
to not put on his pack earlier. He got onto the line of men that were
disembarking via the rear ramp and struggled with his pack. He crashed into
several others and received less than polite words from the others. He finally
got his pack on totally and began to shuffle in order with the rest of the
grunts. He was almost off of the ship when he realized that he had forgotten his
rifle. He quickly turned around and shoved his way out of the line, receiving
more blessings from his comrades and made his way back to the seat
where he was before. He bent over and grabbed his rifle where it had been
propped up with the stock folded.
The rifle that most men on Titan carried was a Heckler & Koch G36E. It was a
light weight assault rifle made of mostly polymer compounds. It fired 5.56x45mm
NATO fed from a 30 round magazine. It had a 1.5x and 4.5x combination sight and
featured semi-auto, three round burst, and full automatic fire options. Its
barrels could be quickly changed to compact or carbine modes, but these were
special issue mostly given to members of the Titan Special Forces Unit. It also
had a folding stock for purposes of compaction. In basic training Miles had
qualified "Expert" with his G36 and was regarded as a slightly better shot than
most others, but came nowhere near the skill of Snipers on Titan.
Paul returned to the end of the now small line and resumed exiting the craft,
with his rifle this time. He stepped out onto the sandy blacktop and looked
around. Most of the structures were canvas tents, but there were a few permanent
buildings. One of them had long whip aerials coming from it and he figured that
to be the Comms building. Miles looked around in slight confusion as he wondered
where to go. He stepped over to a man standing near a garbage incinerator,
pouring the contents of a metal trash bin into it. Miles spoke to him in a
slightly nervous, but nonetheless confident tone.
"Excuse me..." spoke Miles, the man turned to look at him and spoke back.
"Oh shit, another black booter..." He mumbled to himself. "Yeah, what the fuck
do you want?"
Miles was slightly offended but maintained his polite attitude. "I'm
looking for D company, third platoon. Do you know where I could find them?
"Yeah, go straight that way and make the first left, then go three tents down
and that's them."
"Thank you." Responded Miles
"Any time FNG, and don't get shot on your way there!"
Miles walked away from the man, who was now laughing and started down the
straight away that he had been instructed to go down, he made the first left as
he had been told and walked three tents down. It seemed like the garrison tents
went on forever. He reached his supposed destination and looked at a pathetic
wooden sign staked out in front of the tent, it read.
"Dog Company, Third Platoon, home of Das Whopper" There was also a string of
7.62 hanging from it
Miles thought that to be a strange sign but he entered the tent anyway. He
pushed the flap aside and stood at the entrance. The tent was loud and
rambunctious; the entire Platoon was having a general good time. There were men
playing cards and passing around bottles of Whiskey. The thick smell of
cigarette smoke filled the tent and Miles coughed a little. As he did, the noise
slowly died down, and men began to stare at him. More and more slowly brought
their gaze to Paul, threatening him like he was from Mars (The fact that he was
helped little). Soon the entire tent was silent and gazing at Paul. He could do
nothing but stare back at them. The awkward silence lasted for several seconds
until one of the soldiers who was sitting down smoking a cigarette and playing
cards broke the silence. He took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it
between his index and middle fingers; he then cupped his hands around his mouth
and yelled.
"Pretty boy! Look at the black booter, he's got an even shave!"
The entire tend erupted in laughter and then resumed their previous state of
rowdiness. Miles did nothing but swallow his dignity and move to the first
available cot that he saw.