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  Dean stripped down, then took what amounted to a steam shower. The stall was completely sealed, ensuring that no moisture went to waste. It would all be run through a filtration system and ready for him to use again. Showering on board a space ship or space base was not the same as washing on earth. Warm mist was sprayed from nozzles above him, and long tubes filled the booth with UVB light. It wasn’t as luxurious as a real shower, in fact he felt almost like he had been put through a dry cleaning, but he felt better. In the storage locker he found the black, EsDef utility fatigues that reminded Dean of the surgeon’s scrubs worn on earth by medical professionals. He pulled some on and had just sat down at his desk, the weariness he felt seemed to press down on him like a strange sense of gravity, but before he could do anything other than rub his eyes, the chime to his quarters rang.

  “It's open,” Dean said.

  Staff Sergeant Chavez came in and took a seat opposite Dean, his large body shifting in hopes of finding a comfortable position on the little chair. The NCO looked as tired as Dean felt. There were dark circles under his eyes and a set to his jaw that Dean recognized. The big Staff Sergeant was angry about something, and Dean had a good idea what it was.

  “Tell me,” Dean said.

  “Half of our ammo is that non-lethal shit. I've never seen anything like it.”

  “Well, if you're going to be fighting a militant alien race, it's a good policy to stop killing each other. We're headed to Rome Three and joining other recon platoons.”

  “Why not send in the drones?” Chavez said.

  “I suspect they're stock piling the drones to use against the Kroll Empire.”

  “Do you know anything about that? I mean, we haven't heard shit about the Kroll down in the trenches.”

  “I haven't heard anything. They must be playing it very close to the vest, or worse, they don't actually know anything about them.”

  “Don't those fools on Rome Three know we're about to be in a bigger fight?”

  “If they do, they obviously don't care.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “First we're going to drill with this new ammunition. I'm getting ready to search the VR programs to see if I can find something that will help.”

  “Wish we could get a little hands on training.”

  “That would be nice,” Dean agreed. “But we'll be on the ground in three days time. Get some rest. I'll get the training schedule to you ASAP. I want you to have everyone practicing loading and unloading the new ammo. We can't afford to be bumbling around down there.”

  “Yes, sir, I agree. We'll know that ammo better than our own mothers.”

  “Good, once you've got that down we'll run some more VR drills. There are other problems on this boat to deal with, but we can see to them once we've secured the situation on Rome Three.”

  “The training facility,” Chavez said with a nod.

  “That's right, it needs a full overhaul, but it can wait. I'd rather find a way to squeeze some real ammo onto this next drop.”

  “I hear you,” Chavez said. “I'll work on that with the demo team.”

  “No, not Chancy. The last thing he needs is to see us getting creative with our orders.”

  “Is he going to be a problem?”

  “Perhaps, but let me worry about him. What did you find out about the religious leanings of our platoon?”

  “Not a lot yet, haven't had the time. I know Adkins and Bear are good. I'll find out about the others.”

  “Alright, go get some sleep. You'll have your orders when you wake up.”

  “Yes, sir!” Chavez said, rising to his feet and saluting.

  Dean returned the salute and turned his attention to the one thing that was most important to him at that moment.

  Thinking of you, Esma.

  He read the short message over and over again, considering it from every angle. It didn't reveal as much as he would like. Thinking about him could mean anything. It didn't mean she was still interested in him romantically, but it didn't preclude that possibility either. He needed to reply before the Charlemagne reached the jump point. Once they began FTL travel, his message would be archived in the ship's databanks until they returned to Sol. He didn't want to leave Captain Esmerelda Dante waiting that long. But he didn't want to send a message that was too eager, or too casual. He needed to convey his intent, without implying anything.

  After several minutes he pecked out a message using the manual entry keyboard. He preferred typing, it slowed him down and made him think about what needed to be said.

  Thinking of you too, anxious to finish our conversation, Dean.

  He'd never had the opportunity to really spend time with Esma. They had hung out together at the beach in Coronado when Dex had been in training there. At that time, Dean was quiet, thinking the dark skinned, exotic Captain was completely out of his league. And then on the E.S.D.F. Valkyrie circumstances had been less than optimal. The O&A senior officer had been vying for Esma's attention, and the Admiral of the ship was intent on destroying Dean's platoon to further her own political agenda. They had spent less than an hour together in total on that tour, yet it had been enough to kindle a deep interest for Dean. He just hoped Esma felt the same way.

  He sent the message, then did a search for Recon VR training with Non-Lethal ammunition. There was only one program, a simulated riot in a highly populated colony. Dean wondered if it would be enough, but there was nothing more he could do. He would write and file his reports after getting some sleep. His body was telling him it was well past time to rest, and he knew better than to argue. He had learned to rest when the opportunity availed itself. He turned off the Vid screen, and the lights. Pulled off his utility fatigues in the dark, then dropped onto the bed. He didn't bother to get under the covers, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 11

  They were maneuvering down a narrow street, his HA line were moving slowly in the Chevron formation, which was a V-shape. Both FAS and their sniper, who Dean was now calling Ghost because Sergeant Brodus quiet and deadly, were tucked tightly into the V. Dean was right behind them, and forming an arch at the rear were both demo specialists, and Staff Sergeant Chavez.

  They had been going through the training program for nearly four hours straight. Everyone was tired, and not from the rigors of battle, but because their non-lethal ammo made their tactics less than efficient. They were all limited to a single weapon each. There wasn't a non-lethal setting for the AAV's or Ghost's long rifle, or any of the munitions the demo team typically carried. The Force Recon platoons were accustomed to a certain amount of shock and awe in their attacks. The non-lethal ammo made them appear weak, and the VR enemies took full advantage of that fact. Dean wanted to move quickly through the program, to simulate a quick attack scenario, but he quickly learned that unless he wanted to sacrifice half of his platoon to enemy fire, they would have to be slow, methodical, and extremely careful.

  “We have snipers,” Bear said in his French accent that sounded both harsh, and a little comical at the same time.

  “Three O'clock high,” Ghost said.

  “I see them,” Dean declared, trying not to sound irritated. The training program was difficult, repeatedly forcing them into compromising tactical situations. Their non-lethal flechettes had a range of about fifty yards, after that, their trajectory was highly compromised and their penetration rate was even worse. The enemy snipers were several hundred feet up and ready to rain down hot death on the platoon at any moment.

  “Halt,” Dean said. “Keep your eyes open.”

  He could hear Chancy's huff of irritation. None of them like stopping and waiting, but he couldn't charge into enemy fire and without a plan of action they wouldn't survive the mission. The most frustrating part of the training was that it made Dean seem indecisive when he was really just adjusting his tactics. He wanted to have his demo team lob mortars at the building the snipers were perched in, but part of the non-lethal training wa
s the absence of any other munitions. They couldn't set charges, or even shoot back at the snipers. He needed to find a way past them without losing his platoon.

  “Alright, it's time to shake things up,” Dean said. “I want HA to go staggered, inside the range of those snipers.”

  “You're using us as bait?” Bear asked.

  “Yes,” Dean said. “But don't take chances. You're simply a distraction with the best possibility of surviving. Go in with shields high and take covered positions so that your shields are exposed but you aren’t.”

  “What if they have artillery?” Adkins asked.

  “Then you kiss your ass goodbye,” Corporal Antonio “Tank” Pimrey said with a smirk, and getting a chuckle from the three privates, who Dean had begun thinking of as the triplets at that point.

  "I'll be acting point,” Dean said, bringing the laughter to an end. “If I think it's too hot I'll pull you out. Meanwhile, the rest of you are going in the enemy position with Staff Sergeant Chavez. Our goal isn't to kill the snipers, just take them out of commission.”

  “Using what, bad language?” Chancy asked.

  “You can that shit, Corporal,” Chavez growled.

  “We can't kill the enemy, and we can't use their weapons. But we can disable those weapons.”

  “You've got it, Captain. Form up behind me,” Chavez said.

  “As soon as you're ready to infiltrate the building, I'll send the HA into the street.”

  “You heard the man, let's move,” Chavez said.

  Dean watched his fire team move along the edge of the buildings. They got as close as they dared, then signaled to Dean that they were ready. Dean sent the HA team rushing out into the street close to the tall building where the snipers were waiting. He moved out as well, but not into the line of fire. His TCU could zoom up to 200 times, taking his vision straight up the building were he saw gun barrels suddenly sprouting from open windows.

  “HA, take cover,” Dean ordered.

  The Heavy Armor specialists went to their knees, the big titanium-hydrogen alloy shields covered them like a turtle's shell. They had advanced impact absorption hydraulics and shocks that connected the shield to the harness that was worn by the huge men. The technology could absorb ninety-nine percent of the kinetic energy of munition impacts. And it only took a second before the shields were doing just that. The bullets reached the street before the sound, and the lead slugs from the sniper fire pinged off the alloy shields, their momentum spent.

  Dean watched via his TCU and the battle armor of his platoon, while the insertion team rushed to the base of the building where the snipers were hiding. No shots were fired in their direction and Chavez burst through the doorway with Sergeant Tallgrass hot on his heels.

  “We're in," Chavez said on the platoon tactical channel.

  “I've got you, A/V is five by five,” Dean said.

  “Looks like the elevator’s DOA,” Ghost said with a grin.

  “Then we're taking the stairs people. Captain, how much time can you give us?”

  “HA's still in the shooting gallery. The enemy hasn't adapted yet, but we better not count on this lasting much longer.”

  “Affirmative, let's move people. Double time!”

  Dean watched the soldiers running up the stairwell, their utility rifles held ready. Chavez and Tallgrass were in the lead. Ghost came along behind them, moving so easily it seemed like he was out for a evening stroll, not charging into an enemy held position. Behind him Cat and Harper we in close pursuit while Chancy lagged behind the others.

  “This isn't fun,” Bear said.

  “I'm just glad they aren't dropping furniture on our heads,” Adkins said.

  “Stand fast, HA,” Dean ordered. “Insertion team is almost there.”

  They were all breathing hard, but Chancy looked ready to puke when he finally reached the landing on the top floor. Dean hoped they didn't meet much resistance or the Demolition Specialist would be an easy target. Chavez counted down from five with his free hand, then kicked open the door that led from the enclosed stairwell to the large open room where the snipers were shooting, his rifle tracking for enemy targets. The snipers were bunched near a bank of windows, their old fashion projectile weapons slowly swinging to bear on the insertion team. Chavez, Tallgrass, and Ghost all fired simultaneously, with the Fast Attack Specialists covering their flanks. Their non-lethal flechettes shot out of their rifles with anemic sounding puffs of air. The only up-side to the new ammo was that it allowed a fast rate of fire. The snipers were soon riddled with traquilizing flechette darts, and rendered unconscious without returning even a single shot.

  “Enemy's down,” Chavez said.

  “Clear,” Tallgrass said.

  “I'm clear,” Ghost echoed.

  “All clear!” Harper and Cat said at the exact same time.

  Chancy was just at that moment coming through the door behind his platoon mates. “Uh, clear,” he said.

  Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from reprimanding the belligerent Corporal in front of his squad mates. He knew the time for such humiliating tactics might come, but for the moment he decided to wait.

  “Disable those firearms,” Dean said. “HA, you are clear.”

  “Yes sir," Sergeant D'Vois said.

  “Let's form up with Compass,” Dean said, jogging out to meet his Heavy Armor specialists. “Stay on alert until the others join us.”

  When the insertion team got back down to the street, Dean ended the training session. They had been working hard for hours, and he didn't want to discover everything about the VR training program on their first venture through it.

  “That's it for today,” Dean said. “We'll pick it back up here tomorrow. Grab some chow and then clean these training stations. No sense spending hours in stinking gear that smells like yesterday's sweat. Sergeant Tallgrass, Corporal Chancy, report to my quarters at 1330.”

  “Yes sir,” both Chancy and Tallgrass said in unison.

  “We're days away from deployment with these non-lethal weapons people. We have to be ready.”

  “We will be, Captain,” Adkins said.

  Dean left the room as they others continued pulling off their gear. His own training station was not as physically demanding as their own, but he would return and clean his TCU and make sure the program was ready for them to continue the next day.

  Dean showered quickly, then stepped into the Wardroom to grab lunch, which was chicken flavored protein cubes, with rice and little green bits that Dean determined to be broccoli. The familiar amino fruit punch was his drink of choice, not that there were many other options, just water or coffee. The ship's naval officers rotated through six hour shifts, and had most of their meals at the ends of those working hours.

  Dean had no responsibilities on the ship outside of his platoon, but he knew they would be the in New Rome system before the start of the next day, and then on the ground less than twenty-four hours after that. That didn't give him much time, or much hope, that he could break through the defiance of his demolitions Corporal, but he had to try.

  He returned to his quarters and began dictating reports that would be part of his official mission log. The reports would be saved and bundled for transmission at the completion of their mission. It was an efficient system, but one that relied heavily on the need for well trained officers committed to their calling. Had Dean been lazy, he could have stayed in his quarters throughout the day. Worse yet, he could have allowed his platoon idle time on their journey. Dean didn't mind time off, and he wasn't the kind of leader who believed his people should be kept busy with mindless, unnecessary work, but he wasn't about to drop into a combat zone without being as prepared as humanly possible.

  The chime on his exterior door rang, and Dean closed down the report program before calling for his demolition Specialists to come inside. Sergeant Tallgrass immediately stood to attention behind one of the chairs facing Dean. Chancy followed her lead, but with much less enthusiasm.

&nb
sp; “Be seated,” Dean said. “How long have the two of you been working together?”

  “Sir, this is our first deployment together,” Tallgrass said.

  “You're both a core part of this platoon. Not just as demolition Specialists, but because you'll be watching our backs on this mission. I need to know if either of you have a Catholic background.”

  “No sir,” Tallgrass said. “I'm not a fan of organized religion.”

  “I was baptized as a baby,” Chancy said. “But I haven't been in a church since.”

  “Is there any reason that you do not wish to be part of this platoon, or on this mission to Rome Three.”

  “No sir,” Tallgrass said, while Chancy just shook his head.

  “Alright, good enough. I want you both to increase your performance on our next training exercise. Is that clear?”

  “Absolutely,” Tallgrass said.

  Again, Chancy didn't speak. He sat with his arms folded, leaning back in his seat. Everything about his body language shouted defiance, but he nodded.

  “Alright Corporal, you're dismissed,” Dean said.

  Chancy got up so fast he nearly tipped the chair backwards. He cast a scathing look at Sergeant Tallgrass, then stalked out of the room. Dean waited for the door to swish closed before speaking his mind.

  “Tell me what you think of him,” he said.

  “Captain?” Tallgrass asked, a clear note of caution in her voice.

  “Nothing you say here will be in my report, Sergeant. I want you to speak candidly. What is your impression of Corporal Chancy?”

  Dean knew that there was an unspoken rule about criticizing a fellow Specialist. No one wanted to be put into a position where they were forced to say things to a superior officer about another soldier that they wouldn't be comfortable saying to that person's face. Still, Dean needed to know what was most important to Sergeant Eleanor Tallgrass, her standing with her Demolitions counterpart, or the health and wellbeing of the platoon.