Lions in Blue and Silver
The story of returning to civilization, and realizing humans aren't very civilized.
'When I think back to the early days, all I remember is the swamp. The smell. The heat. The darkness. The sounds of orbital bombardments, screams in the night, and splashes that could have been anything from piranha to a goddamned deathjaw. People always act like Dalthos was the worst thing we ever endured… but a death there would have been clean. In the aftermath, when they cleaned out Tallahassee, they found human remains – Marines – in the goddamned cookpots. Spikes ain't got shit on humans for horrific ways to die.'
-Tradius Ahern
Ahern wasn't sure what to expect on the trip back into Quantico.
The shuttles of the evacuation teams soared through the air at top speed, directly away from the towering wall of blackness that was the oncoming armada storm. The howling winds buffered the group of shuttles wildly, pilots having to fight the air currents even at this distance from the storm.
The comm-link was open, the shuttle they were in a larger cargo type roughly three times the size of the smaller personnel shuttles. Two tiny screens were mounted on each wall, the flat-screen LCDs displayed images of rioting and fighting all over the globe, slowly being crushed by the seemingly endless tides of Commissars in black armor and with the frightening cybernetics they were known for.
Ahern glanced across the narrow isle to Yonis, a wry expression on his face. "So, we lived."
The Chinese noble nodded sourly, his expression drawn with exhaustion. "It seems like we were in there for weeks, somehow. Even though we were actually in for less than a day." He absently rubbed at the bandaged section of his arm, his voice softening further. "The pilot said they finally have some gunships, doing a last sweep for survivors."
Ahern nodded sourly. "And the Marines in the Exclusion Zone?"
Yonis shook his head. "Haven't heard anything. Worrying all on its own." He glanced up as the intercom chimed softly before the VI spoke.
"Please secure for arcology shield entrance. Reentering sterile space containment."
The shuttle zoomed through the section of the main arcology shield that was dropped, passing through the huge tunnel lined with UV emitters and other devices designed to make sure what existed outside the arcology in terms of poisonous gasses, viruses, and other hazards didn't get into the arcology. After the shuttle passed through a decon shower of gray liquid and another array of UV lighting, it came out in the main landing stream, touching down on the broad concrete of the assembly area they had all taken off from.
About eight other shuttles were already landed, disgorging Marines slowly. Emergency vehicles lined the road to the landing area, medics hustling here and there – some loading Marines onto stretchers, others operating a field hospital right there on the tarmac.
The shuttle door opened and a medic in blue jumpsuit climbed in. "Marines, please disembark by teams. Medics will assess your wounds and anyone who needs immediate care will be prioritized."
Ahern glanced at Michael Shepard. "Your guys ate the most rads and took the most shots, Lieutenant."
The man nodded, having removed his helmet, his thin dreadlocks swaying with the motion. "Appreciated, Captain." He was levered up by two of his teammates, grimacing against the pain in his hip. "Can't exactly walk real well, sir."
The medic nodded, and made a motion. Two more medics hustled up with a stretcher, and got Shepard on it, the rest of his battered team following.
It took twenty minutes to get everyone off the shuttle and triaged, and another three hours – mostly of decon, having wounds cleaned and sealed with medical paste and stitches, and of course the lovely round of strong anti-rad purgatives – before they were debriefed.
First, each team was taken to a berthing area, and allowed a quick but very hearty meal – real food, not MRE and thankfully not ration biscuits, which Ahern privately considered less palatable than eating raw metal. They had a chance to shower, change into fresh clothes, and medics checked their bandages and wounds a final time.
Then, for roughly an hour and a half, they were tersely interviewed by military officers – mostly asking questions about conditions, and about any outstanding actions taken. Ahern mentioned Michael Shepard risking his life twice to save comrades, as well as Kai Leng's insane bravery at charging a group of rifle-armed soldiers with a sword when they'd pinned down the rest of the team. He also pointed out Michael Saracino's sniping accuracy, which the interviewers only smiled and nodded at.
After this was done (and another fifteen minutes of sitting around), they were led back into the very same hall where the entire description of the aliens and the trials had been shared with them the first time.
The room was far less full of Marines this time than when the entire trial had started, and quieter, too. The banners of scenes of battle were gone, replaced by somber black-bordered ones filled with names – the names of the dead. Commissars stood here and there, large and threatening in their armor. Most of them had heavy levels of cybernetics, which were still bleeding-edge technology. Their stares were hard and cold, but rarely fixed on the Marines, instead staring off into the distance.
Ahern did a rough check on the numbers in the hall. The original count had been five hundred teams, and the room had been filled to capacity. Glancing around now, he saw about a third of the room was filled. Which meant at least two to three hundred teams were either disqualified… or dead.
Before he could wrap his mind around that infuriating thought, a color sergeant at the front of the room erupted into a basso shout. "Attention on deck! Systems Alliance Marines, arriving! General, Systems Alliance Intelligence Service, arriving!"
Ahern came tiredly to his feet and to attention as General von Grath and General Izunami entered the room. The former looked tired and angry, the latter as expressionless as ever, although his mouth was turned downwards into a sour frown for a moment. Both were in undress uniforms, and behind them trailed a literal cloud of aides and assistants, which shuffled around while von Grath headed to the podium at the front of the room.
The Duke of Arcturus and Commander of the Alliance Marine forces swept his eyes across the ranks of Marines before giving a wintry smile. "At ease, brothers and sisters. Sit down." He waited until the Marines were seated before continuing. "This exercise did not go as we intended, at all. You have no doubt heard of the large amount of rioting and general disobedience that occurred at roughly the same time as EAGL's strike."
He exhaled, eyes narrowing. "What we know for certain is that we had traitors in our command structure. These have been dealt with to the fullest extent of the wrath of the Commissariat. We have also orbitally bombarded any possible shelter from the coming armada storm – EAGL will not live out the night."
His mouth tightened. "Unfortunately, that decision was made after it became apparent that we would not be able to rescue the entirety of our Marine force. The EMP bombs took out three-fourths of the shuttles in the exercise – those it did not take out were ordered to immediately return to base so we could use them in evacuations. The bulk of those were used to evacuate the Marines in and near the exclusion areas, while the rest of you had to hang on."
He straightened. "The original concept we envisioned called for no more than one hundred teams to pass this phase, and to do elimination-style competitions until we reached twenty teams. After discussions with the Minister of Defense, the High Lords, and the Commissariat… that plan has been altered."
He glanced around the room again, eyes narrowed. "As of this moment, assuming medical clears you for service, you have all been assigned to the initial training cadre at the Interplanetary Combatives Academy being constructed in what was once Brazil. This course will identify the best possible N and S operatives… and will provide all of you with the well-earned chance, after the intolerable bullshit you have just endured, to prove your worth."
Murmurs broke out among the Marines, immediately silenced when General Izunami spoke. "The reason for this change in our plans is twofold. First, given the staggering losses we have just endured at the hands of criminal scavengers, as well as the well-coordinated global uprising that was put down, the High Lords have decided a larger military outlay is needed. Thus, they have appropriated personal funds to train larger amounts of N and S class operatives than in the original budget. Given that money is no longer a limitation, we can now afford a much larger force than planned."
"Second, the operation was originally slated to have a one to three percent casualty rate, with the vast majority of those being injuries, not deaths. Instead, we have six hundred and twenty-one dead Marines, almost all of you are wounded, and over two hundred Marines have career-ending injuries. That comes out to over thirty percent. The sheer number of losses was originally why we wanted more Ns and Ss in the first place, and this sad event has proven the wisdom in that."
"The fact that well over fifty of the survivors are no longer able to serve as Marines is only an additional loss, one we cannot ignore."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ahern saw Michael Shepard bow his head and clench his fist angrily, and gave a small sigh. The man probably wouldn't ever walk again with a hit that savage, and the Alliance, unlike the Commissars, did not approve of or use cybernetics.
Izunami's voice raised in tone. "In light of such sacrifices – and the SA will remember those sacrifices – we feel it would be better to skip the rest of the planned evaluations. There simply is no need. You have survived due to teamwork, to grit, to the refusal to kneel to defeat – be that from godless heathens in the polluted outlands or even the all-killing might of an armada storm. No matter if you go home today to head to Brazil, or have to return home due to injuries – you are all heroes."
The AIS General smiled thinly. "That is why the decision to allow everyone to try was made. Those of you who are being made to accept a medical discharge will be promoted one rank for purposes of pension, and the Alliance will be paying all of your medical and care expenses, until your natural death or such time that technology makes those expenses unnecessary."
General von Grath folded his arms. "I am sure there are questions, but quite a few of you should be in a hospital bed right now, so keep it brief. You, Lieutenant, what is it?"
A dark-skinned woman with a strong Indian accent stood and saluted. "Lieutenant Pransa, 11th Arcturus, sir! What is being done about those fu— those EAGL people, sir?"
Von Grath's lips twitched into a smile. "Those fucking animals are being orbitally bombarded right now, Lieutenant. Any who survive the armada storm are going to be taken into custody and hauled off to perform back-breaking manual labor for the good of the Alliance until they die, and the money from that is used to help pay for any medical issues faced by this Marine body."
He pointed to another person. "…You. And what the bloody hell is a medical doctor doing in the infantry?"
The woman rose elegantly, saluting calmly. "Lieutenant Commander Vandefar, Alliance Medical, detached duty with the 20th Shanxi so I can have a combat TAB, General. My question is how did this happen, sir? I understand we had traitors in the communications department, but how EAGL – a pack of inbred pre-Iron trash – get their hands on nukes?"
General Izunami spoke. "From all indications, the weapons were old – from before the Days of Iron – and probably stored in the ruins of the Tallahassee arcology destroyed by the Big One in 2102. We're still in the process of investigating… which is, of course, complicated by the armada storm rolling through the region."
He gave a small sigh. "However, from what the Commissariat has uncovered, the penetration of certain Alliance groups was more thorough and ongoing than originally believed, and the scope of the resistance to the Alliance and the High Lords more coordinated and in-depth than previously thought. That's why every effort is being made to capture these people, interrogate them, find their compatriots, and then ship them off-world to a penal colony."
He pointed to a bulky muscular figure. "Last question, Sergeant…?"
The man stood, his hair trimmed back to a single scalp-lock, his figure massive. "Sergeant Mikombe, sir. If we're all headed to Brazil, that don't mean we all get to be Ns, right?"
Izunami smiled more widely. "No, it doesn't. The course we have planned is extremely rigorous – tougher, actually, than Solguard or even Guard of Iron entrance testing – and that's only N1. We plan for seven graduations of skill, with the final one being a live-fire evaluation under lethal conditions. And we laid out rewards for those who didn't pass the first cut – those of you who don't make it are going straight into either the Solguard or the Guard of Iron."
More murmurs erupted at this, and General von Grath held up a hand for silence. "We don't want to drag this on too long. For now, your orders are simple: all of you are to report to medical for complete decon and treatment. For those of you who are deemed to have injuries too severe, you will be offered non-combat positions in Alliance Central Command, at one rank higher than you hold now – which means, in effect, you get promoted twice."
He exhaled. "That's still a shitty deal, ladies and gentlemen, but it's the most I can do for now. Once cleared from medical, you have a week of leave. The rest of you – once you're cleared from medical, you have some leave before you report back to Quantico – you'll get a notification via SA-8 on your tablets, or your cellphones. Once everyone is processed through and reports back here, we'll do an in-briefing and update your jackets to denote you are assigned to N or S duty."
He placed both hands on the podium. "I'm sure you have a great deal of faith and camaraderie in your teams, but be aware we'll almost certainly be breaking them up and reassigning you to new teams, based on your skill sets. I will be personally reviewing the team choices, so if you have an issue with it, send it up the chain of command I am about to announce."
He exhaled. "Captain John Harris, front and center."
A heavily muscled man with a Solguard flash stood and walked forward with a slight limp, his head shaven and lined with scars that stood out against his tanned and weathered features. He came to a stop in front of the podium and saluted. "Sir."
Von Grath's voice was stern, but proud. "Captain Harris, you personally stood off four ABC war robots singlehandedly while ensuring five other teams of Marines, all badly wounded, were able to be evacuated from the battle. You saved the lives of six other Marines in a series of running firefights that all observers have agreed would have killed a lesser man. Based on testimony from Lieutenants Richards, Kapain, and von Khar, I am proud to award you the Star of Sol, and immediate promotion to Colonel, N-series commanding officer."
He pulled out a slender black box from his pocket, revealing a blue ribbon behind a silver star, and hung it around the man's neck. "Colonel Harris, fall in."
The man smiled and saluted, and turned to head back to his seat. Von Grath glanced around the room, and nodded. "Lieutenant Michael Shepard, front and center."
Shepard grimaced as he levered himself to his feet, and with crutches and one of his teammates by his side, managed to get to the front, Marines making a hole for him. Von Grath's expression was grave as he took in his state.
"Lieutenant, you risked your life during the initial crash to safeguard your team, taking multiple wounds in doing so and absorbing at least one hit for a teammate. Later on, you're credited with preventing the death of another Marine in an explosion, and took a crippling wound to save the life of yet another Marine."
Von Grath's eyes softened. "I've known Kahlee since she was born, and I'm her godfather. I cannot, with pieces of metal or empty words, thank you enough for saving her life, son, at the cost it came to you." He gave a gusty sigh. "While the medics have informed me you won't be able to continue in a combat rate, I am promoting you immediately to Captain and, if you would accept, offer you a place on my staff. And due to your heroics, you are awarded the Medal of Valor, and the Silver Star." He withdrew two more black boxes from his pocket, handing them to Shepard's teammate.
Shepard merely braced his weight on his good leg and saluted awkwardly. "My duty as a Marine, sir."
"Captain Shepard, fall in." He waited until the man was seated again before speaking. "Captain Tradius Ahern, front and center."
Ahern stood, frowning, and wondered what in the hell this could be about. He moved forward, coming to a neat stop in front of the podium, and met the older man's gaze steadily. "Sir."
Von Grath was silent for a few seconds. "I have reports from almost half a dozen lieutenants, one captain, and one lieutenant commander, that your intervention and leadership is directly responsible for the salvation of a dozen teams. Your own command brought down, by our best count, well over one hundred EAGL terrorists and at least six ABC war robots. Your coordination of command in rescuing the team of Michael Shepard and organizing and stiffening the defense at the landing site where you were recovered is exemplary."
He smiled. "With that in mind, I am proud to award you the Star of Sol, the Legion of Honor, and you are immediately promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, N-series executive officer." He pulled out a final black box, opening it to remove the ribbon and hang it around Ahern's neck.
"Additionally, Colonel Harris and Lieutenant Colonel Ahern are, by orders of Prince Maxwell Manswell himself, awarded membership as Knights of the Distinguished Merit Knighthood of the Systems Alliance." He straightened and nodded. "Lieutenant Colonel Ahern, fall in."
He saluted in a daze and retreated back to his seat, barely noticing Saracino's gleeful mutterings of 'Sir Tradius' as he sat back down.
General von Grath gave a thin smile. "We've lost many brothers and sisters this day, Marines. I won't lie and say they died for some greater purpose, nor insult their sacrifice by trite words of sorrow. They were your friends, partners, drinking buddies, and comrades."
He squared his shoulders. "The fault of their deaths lays on Command, on us. We didn't pull the trigger and we didn't blow up the nukes, but we failed to anticipate the level of risk and did not understand how bad things could have gotten. That is our failure, Marines, my failure, one I must own up to and deal with going forward. How that falls out will be determined at a later date."
His expression tightened. "My own son was out there in this mess." He nodded at a lieutenant near the front, who looked like a slightly more heavily built version of him with blond rather than white hair and a rakish cast to his features. "His team was one of the last we evacuated from the Exclusion Zone before the storm hit. We left our people behind, and we will be going back for them, but funerals for all Marine dead will be held officially tomorrow."
He pushed back from the podium, head held high. "We will grieve, rebuild, and remember. Dismissed."
The hall slowly emptied, as medics appeared at every doorway bringing order to the chaos. Ahern and his team slowly shuffled back into the mix, being spat out of the medical tents some two and half hours later to meet at their assigned barracks.
Kyle, of all people, had made a run to the package store and come back with beers, which he passed out to the team. "We survived."
Saracino popped his open, and took a swallow. "Against the best efforts of our glorious leaders to kill us, we did. And we didn't even run into any slug-cats."
Chu smiled faintly. "Probably get broken up when they make the teams up, you know." He sipped his beer, grimacing. "God knows who we'll be teamed up with."
Rachel shrugged. "That was bound to happen anyway, Chu-Chu. Jesus fuck, I'm astonished some of us haven't been CAT6'd by now." She took her own swig, wiping her mouth. "On the other hand, I'm a staff sergeant now. And Mike is a frigging master chief."
Ahern smirked. "Truly, a fucked-up ending to a fucked-up evolution. Here's to Team Smashfucker. One hundred sixteen wins and no losses."
The bottles clinked and the night slowly wore on.