ARC Angel (ARC Angel Series Book 1) Page 4

  “What the hell?” Mercer said.

  “The swarm is on the move,” the satellite operator said.

  “We have target evasion,” the airplane pilot circling the strike zone announced.

  “Commander, may I suggest that we continue to target the hive,” Mercer said.

  “We don’t even know how many are left down there,” Beauregard said. “They may be moving because they’re all out of the ground already.”

  “From the reports we got out of the Sirius system, I believe the swarm can detect bombardment.”

  “I can’t waste ordinance on an unseen enemy,” the commander of the Ramses said. “Scout One, target the swarm, not the canyon. I repeat, target the swarm.”

  “Roger that, command. We will keep the laser on the swarm.”

  Mercer watched as the video image shifted. The swarm seemed to be traveling fast. The guidance system on the warhead slowed the projectile significantly as it fought gravity to change course. The swarm was moving in a straight line which allowed the surveillance plane to keep it targeted, but at the last second the pack of strange, insectile creatures split apart. They seemed to flee in all directions at once, perhaps two seconds before the kinetic warhead impacted the ground. Dirt flew up, blocking the video feed. The surveillance plane circled over the strike zone, waiting for the air to clear, but Mercer had no doubt about the outcome. Perhaps a few of the creatures had been killed, but the majority of the swarm had evaded the bomb. And they would collect their dead, leaving no evidence the CSF could use to discover a weakness that might be exploited.

  “What happened?” the governor asked.

  “We hit the target,” the weapons control officer onboard the Ramses declared.

  “But the target moved,” Commander Beauregard said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the governor demanded.

  “It means we missed,” Mercer said. “The swarm is still alive.”

  “Why can’t we see them?” the governor asked.

  “They’re smart enough to stay hidden in the dirt cloud kicked up by the warhead,” Mercer said.

  “Can’t you track them using infrared or heat signature or something?” the irate administrator complained.

  “They don’t show on thermal imaging,” Commander Beauregard said. “We have to find them visually.

  “But the sun is setting,” the governor said. “What happens when it gets dark?”

  For a long moment no one responded. Lieutenant Commander Mercer knew that once the sun went down they would lose sight of the swarm. Ground units in vehicles could keep them in sight with spot lights, but the swarm would turn on them and destroy the vehicles, killing the soldiers. In the darkness, the swarm could escape and no weapon the CSF tried seemed to have an effect on the insectile aliens.

  “What happens when it gets dark?” the governor asked again.

  “We don’t know,” Mercer said honestly. “We won’t be able to track them.”

  “So they’ll just run around loose on the planet?”

  “Unfortunately that is correct.”

  “Well that’s a fine how do you do. What the hell are we sending funds to CSF for if you can’t do anything to keep us safe?”

  “We’re working on it, sir. The best minds in the service are on the problem. We will find a way to stop the swarms.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” the governor complained. “It isn’t your planet they’re running loose on.”

  Mercer cut the audio feed.

  “Mark the location,” she ordered the satellite operator. “We’ll need to send a recon team down to the surface to check that location.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the satellite operator said.

  Mercer sat back and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe it was really happening. The swarms seemed untouchable. If they didn’t find a way to stop them another colony world would be lost. And how long until they were on Earth? She shuddered to think of it. Then got busy typing up a report to send back to CSF command.

  Hill Colonial Space Fleet Training Base

  Ogden, Utah, U.S.A.

  Running, jumping, and constant exercise, punctuated by tiny fractions of rest. The first week of basic training was essentially the hardest physical test Angel had ever endured. Eight recruits had been cut for health reasons that cropped up during the long hours of grueling exercise inflicted on the recruits by their training instructors. When they weren’t running they were either doing strength exercises, like pull-ups, push-ups, scissor kicks, sit-ups, lunges, and jumping jacks, or marching. They marched all over the base, walking in step with either Green or O’Neal shouting out a cadence, many of which were sexually explicit chants that made the women uncomfortable while the male recruits laughed hysterically. They marched away from camp and back to camp, ate meals in less time than it took most people to brush their teeth, and sleep was always too short and rudely interrupted.

  Finally, after a full week of sore muscles, blistered feet, and shock at how much physical abuse they could endure, the recruits started to adapt. They ran six miles before breakfast, and often six more before dinner. They learned to salute, stand at attention — sometimes for hours at a time — march in perfect synchronization, and obey every order without a second’s hesitation. When Staff Sergeant Gordon marched them to a building with tables that reminded Angel of her science classes in middle school, the recruits looked around with wonder. They gathered in groups of three around the tables while Gunnery Sergeants Green and O’Neal passed out tactical assault rifles.

  “Platoon,” Gordon said in a voice that carried through the room. “This is the Nelson Arms TA 71 rifle. It will fire a variety of ammunition, from short range plasma cylinders, to long range smart bullets, but the standard round is a hollow tip porous lead bullet, or frags. These bullets have tremendous stopping power and because of the soft nature of the slug, they compress upon impact which results in major soft tissue damage.”

  Behind Staff Sergeant Gordon an image flickered to life on a large screen. It showed a small, black bullet with a tapered tip. Beside the photo of the bullet, a schematic appeared, showing tiny holes bored into the lead, and small, curving channels at the rear.

  “The bullets are launched through the TA 71’s smooth barrel via a gas powered piston, which reduces recoil significantly over explosive powder or gas discharged weapons. It also allows the TA 71 to work perfectly in zero gravity environments. The air channels in the rear of the bullet cause the projectile to spin as it flies through the air, thus making it an accurate and reliable ammunition for all-around combat use. The standard size magazine can accommodate seventy-one rounds, since the soft lead bullet has no need for a casing or explosive powder. The TA 71 is an extremely clean weapon, with very little discharge, but since your life will depend on the reliability of your weapon, we will train with it extensively. You will keep this training model of the TA 71 with you at all times, even when you sleep.”

  They spent the next three hours taking the rifle apart and putting it back together nearly a dozen times. Angel didn’t mind the work. She understood that she had joined the marines, and even though she had no desire to fight, it was a necessary part of her training so she took it seriously. It was the monotonous nature of the training that seemed to weigh so heavily on her. She was used to practicing a move over and over again, teaching her body to perform the move correctly without any conscious thought. Yet assembling and cleaning a weapon felt strange somehow.

  Angel had never been around firearms. No one in her family owned a gun. It was all new to her, from cleaning the barrel to oiling the moving components. They were shown how to sling the rifles around their neck and one shoulder, so that the gun could be brought to bear at a moment’s notice, while also allowing their hands to remain free for other tasks when fighting wasn’t necessary.

  Soon they returned to the familiar routine of running and exercising and marching. The next day they began learning to shoot the TA 71. They loaded magazine
s with dozens of bullets that were then carefully fired into paper targets while they lay stretched out on their stomachs. The targets were slowly moved back, from twenty-five meters, to fifty meters, to one hundred meters. Angel learned how to focus through the simple aiming reticle while still seeing the target. And seeing daily improvement in her marksmanship appealed to her competitive nature.

  There was no free time in their day, every minute was accounted for as they were hustled from one activity to the next. Still, despite the demanding nature of their training, friendships began to form. The recruits found time to talk while they practiced breaking down their weapons, or load numerous magazines, or scarfed down their meals. Wendy McManus had taken to Angel like a lost puppy. Her plump body had slimmed significantly in the first week of training and she pushed herself hard, trying to keep up with Angel in every way. Hillary Browne didn’t need encouragement, she was almost as physically fit as Angel, but without the upper body strength. Hillary had been a soccer player in high school, and recognized Angel as a fellow athlete.

  Among the male recruits, Peter Teager did his best to spend time near Angel, who wasn’t completely ignorant when it came to romance, although she’d never had the time to devote to a boyfriend during the rigors of gymnastic training. She recognized the crush and didn’t discourage Peter, even though the recruits had been strictly warned not to fraternize. Still, the extra attention was welcome and made Angel feel human despite the exhausting nature of their training.

  At the beginning of the third week each recruit was assigned to a rotating watch schedule. Wendy was Angel’s watch partner and they were forced to stand outside the barracks for an hour every night. The recruits rarely got a full six hours of sleep to begin with, but having to wake up and stand watch only made the physical training more difficult. Angel preferred it when her watch assignment started with the first hour, or the last hour of their rack time. Having what little rest she was allowed interrupted only made her more tired the following day.

  Finally, when Angel didn’t think things could get more difficult, the platoon was introduced to the obstacle course. With their training weapons in hand, they were forced to crawl under barbed wire, shimmy across narrow beams of wood, climb ropes, scale walls, and ascend nets. The gunnery sergeants shouted at them mercilessly as they ran, climbed, crawled, and shuffled their way through the obstacles. The goal was to complete the course in under two minutes. At her fastest Angel could only manage to get through it in slightly over three minutes. With only a week left in her condensed basic training, Angel was informed that she wouldn’t be allowed to end her training early unless she could complete the obstacle course in less than two minutes.

  “It isn’t fair,” Wendy said. “You’re one of the fastest people in the platoon. No one can run the course in under two minutes.”

  “It wouldn’t be an issue if she wasn’t leaving early,” Zach Thane said with a sneer.

  Zach was clearly jealous of Angel and always pointed out any activity he managed to do better than she did. He was clearly accustomed to being the center of attention and while he was capable enough, the only times he ever pushed himself was in an effort to best Angel.

  “She has to leave early,” Wendy argued. “She’s on the officer track.”

  “Officers have to do basic training just like the rest of us,” Zach grumbled.

  “Why are you so angry, dude?” Peter asked. “Once Angel leaves you’ll be top of the class.”

  “I’m top of the class now, moron,” Zach argued. “I just don’t think it’s fair that she gets special treatment.”

  “No one promised you things would be fair,” Hillary said. “Don’t act like such a baby.”

  Angel knew that Zach had a temper. He was a bully by nature and used every opportunity to start problems with the other recruits. She knew if she didn’t speak up soon he would be shouting at her friends, who were only trying to encourage her.

  “I’ll be fine,” Angel said. “Staff Sergeant Gordon said I could double up on the training course for the rest of the week.”

  “Do you really think you can beat it in under two minutes?” Wendy asked.

  “I love a challenge,” Angel said.

  “That’s code for no,” Zach smirked.

  “What the hell do you know?” Peter said. “I ought to wipe that smile right off your smug face.”

  “You should try it, I dare you,” Zach taunted.

  “Ignore him,” Angel said. “He isn’t worth getting in trouble over.”

  After breakfast they were split into their barracks groups and taught hand to hand tactics. Angel wasn’t a natural fighter, but she was comfortable on the mat and strong enough to overpower most of the other girls. Sergeant Green used Angel as his assistant, first to show the others the moves he wanted them to practice, then to help him watch and evaluate the others. Angel picked up the moves quickly. She learned to hip toss, rear choke, and arm restrain her opponents.

  During the afternoon, while the rest of platoon marched, she ran the obstacle course by herself. She had the most trouble scaling the wall and the net. She didn’t worry about her balance on the narrow beam. She could have done handstands across the narrow wooden obstacle. And normally she could pull her weight up with no problems, but the wall climb was difficult because she had to jump and grasp the top of the wall, which didn’t give her a strong grip. If she got in a hurry, her fingers would slip off the smooth board at the top. She practiced getting over the obstacle until her hands and shoulders were aching from the effort.

  The net climb was difficult because it moved as she tried to find her way up. It was nothing more than an old cargo net made of hemp fibers that was draped across a pole fifteen feet above the ground. At the bottom it was loose, at the top it was tight. Flipping over the round beam and getting her feet back into the rungs without slipping through and injuring herself took more control and discipline than she thought.

  Four days into her individual practice sessions she had shaved her time down to a minute and fifty seconds, but that was running the course solo. To graduate she would have to run the obstacle course with other members of her platoon who might get in her way and slow her down.

  On the night before her last full day of training, Angel and Wendy pulled the first watch. The days were long and hot in the arid climate of northern Utah, but the nights grew chilly. Angel and Wendy walked back and forth in front of their barracks, both of them tired and sore from another long day of almost constant physical activity. Wendy got a black eye when her sparring partner, a skinny girl with freckles named Lisa, flailed about in the hopes of avoiding Wendy’s hip toss and hit her with an unintentional elbow. The eye hadn’t swollen shut, but it was puffy nonetheless.

  “That looks painful,” Angel said.

  “Nothing broken,” Wendy said, a note of sadness in her voice. “I’ll be okay.”

  “You don’t seem okay.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. You have bigger concerns.”

  “Tell me what’s bothering you,” Angel said. “I’m going to miss our chats while we stand watch.”

  “At least you won’t have to do it anymore,” Wendy said. “It won’t be the same when you’re gone.”

  “Basic training doesn’t last forever,” Angel said.

  “No, just twelve more weeks. I might just take a dive off the top of the climbing wall.”

  “Don’t say that. You can make it. You’re tough.”

  “I’ll just miss you, that’s all. Aren’t you nervous about tomorrow?”

  “I guess so. I have to pass the basic marksmanship test and run the obstacle course in under two minutes. As long as nothing bad happens I should be able to do it.”

  “They should let you run the course alone. I’d hate to think what Zach might try if he gets the chance.”

  “I’ve known people like Zach all my life,” Angel said. “He thinks he shouldn’t have to work hard at anything. He’ll learn sooner or later just how wrong
he is.”

  “I wish I could let you go get some rest,” Wendy said. “I don’t want you to leave, but I’m rooting for you just the same.”

  “You’re a good friend, Wendy, one of the best I’ve ever had. I wish I could take you with me when I go.”

  “Do you know what you’ll be doing after basic? They must have you doing something super important to fast track you.”

  “I think I’m going to be someone’s assistant,” Angel said, only halfway kidding.

  She hadn’t told anyone about her assignment to R&D, or the new ARC suits she would be testing. All they knew was that Angel was on the officer fast track, but none of them knew why. If she was honest, Angel didn’t really know why either. She understood that she could bring some expertise to the ARC suit, but so could hundreds of other women. Some of the instructors and coaches probably knew more about what the human body could endure in the Assisted Rapid Combat suit, but she was happy that her training was abridged. She had endured basic training, but nothing about it was especially enjoyable other than the friends she had made.

  “You never said why you were being fast tracked,” Wendy said, fishing for more information from her friend. “I think most officers have to go through all sixteen weeks of basic training.”

  Angel knew her friend was just naturally curious, and under other circumstances she would have gladly told her everything, but Colonel Jakobson had been very clear. She wasn’t to share details of her assignment with anyone for any reason.

  “I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” Angel said, feinting ignorance.

  Their watch shift ended and Angel was grateful for the opportunity to lay down. Sleep was elusive, but she had endured many sleepless nights before gymnastics meets. She could relax her body, even if her mind refused to quiet down and sleep. The thin mattress was the most luxurious thing about basic training, which wasn’t saying much. Still, to lie down and be mostly comfortable, together with the freedom of uninterrupted thought, made her rack time her favorite part of the day. In a few hours she would be tested, and hopefully taken to the next part of her training. Colonel Jakobson had told her it would be an Officer Training Intensive. She had no idea what that was, but it sounded better than basic training, that much she was certain of.