Issue In Doubt

CHAPTER Fifteen

Jordan, Eastern Shapland



During the SAR mission to Mini Mouse, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, moved to Jordan, one of the areas where Force Recon had encountered the aliens. India Company’s third platoon was held in reserve pending the return of its first squad. With the squad suffering two dead and three wounded out of its thirteen-man strength, third platoon remained in reserve for the time being. Kilo Company was in positions on the north and west sides of Jordan, Lima Company on the south and east. Their lines were punctuated and backed up by the heavy weapons of Weapons Company. India Company was billeted inside the small city.

“Mackie, Cafferata,” Sergeant Martin called out when he rejoined his squad after the squad leaders’ debriefing that was held immediately after the return from Mini Mouse, “on me.”

The two lance corporals heaved themselves to their feet from where they had been resting in the shade of a building on the south side of the town, and joined their squad leader. Neither was feeling very enthusiastic about anything, they didn’t even feel relieved to be out of anything remotely resembling a defensive position.

“What’s up, honcho?” Mackie asked flat-voiced when he reached Martin.

Cafferata didn’t say anything, he just gave his squad leader a blank stare. The fight on Mini Mouse had been the first combat for either of them, the first time they’d lost men they knew. The experience was preying on them.

If Martin was depressed or upset by the casualties in his squad, it didn’t show on his face or in his voice. “Both of your fire team leaders are out for a while with their wounds, but I guess you figured that.”

Mackie mumbled an indistinct “I know,” and Cafferata nodded dumbly.

“That means the two of you are acting fire team leaders, until Corporals Adriance and Button return to duty.”

This time Mackie nodded dumbly, and Cafferata mumbled, “Yeah, I figured.”

Martin looked closely at them, but neither looked back—or even at each other. Their eyes were down and to the side, not looking at anything in particular. He had to break them out of their funk before it got worse and paralyzed them.

“A-ten-hut!”

Startled by the unexpected command, the two came to attention, though not as sharply as they would have in garrison—or even before the fight on Mini Mouse.

“What i—?” Mackie started to say.

“Did I tell you to speak, Lance Corporal?” Martin snarled, thrusting his face into Mackie’s. He shot a glare at Cafferata, warning him to keep quiet. “Well?” he demanded when Mackie didn’t say anything.

“No, Sergeant,” Mackie said, clench jawed. His eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Martin took a step back and looked from one to the other before saying, “Listen up, you two, and listen up good. Do you think you’re the First Marines to lose buddies in combat? Every Marine who’s gone in harm’s way has lost buddies. I have, Sergeant Johnson has, and Sergeant Mausert has. And you better believe Staff Sergeant Guillen has! Some of the corporals in this platoon have lost buddies in combat. I know it’s shitty, but shit happens, particularly in war.”

He stopped and looked aside for a moment. When he began again, his voice was thick. “I just lost two more Marines, men I was responsible for.” His voice harshened. “If you feel like hell, how do you think I feel? Zion and Porter were my men, my responsibility. That weighs, that weighs heavily. Heavier than what’s got you down, believe me.

“But if I let it weigh me down too much, it’ll make me screw up somehow the next time we meet those aliens, and more Marines will get killed. Then it won’t just be because shit happens, it’ll be because I screwed up. Their deaths will my fault. I can’t allow that to happen. And I can’t allow you to feel so sorry for yourselves that you screw up and get good Marines killed. So shape up! Do you understand? Do you?”

Mackie swallowed rather than say anything. Cafferata mumbled, “Yes, Sergeant.”

Martin again shoved his face to Mackie’s. “Do you hate me, Mackie? Is that why you aren’t getting with the program?”

Mackie worked up a mouthful of nervous saliva, then swallowed it. “No, Sergeant, I don’t hate you. I’m thinking about the squad, how we can function when we’re short so many men.” His voice was clear, although not as strong as he would have liked.

“Oh?” Martin said, taking a step back. “Do you have a suggestion, Lance Corporal?”

“Ah. . .” Mackie looked around, thinking.

“I’m waiting, Lance Corporal.”

“Well, we’re down five men. That leaves us—you—with seven men. Wouldn’t reorganizing the squad into two fire teams be better?”

“You mean with me as one fire team leader and Corporal Vittori as the other?”

“Yes, Sergeant, sort of like that.”

Martin slowly shook his head. “No, for a couple of reasons. First, our wounded will be coming back fairly soon, and I don’t want to have to keep reorganizing the squad. Second, I want to give my lance corporals a bit of experience as fire team leaders—.”

“But first fire team is only me and Orndoff! Third fire team is Cafferata and Hill. And what about experience for Garcia, he’s a lance corporal, too.”

Martin nodded. “That’s true, all of what you said. But you and Cafferata only having one man each limits how much you can screw up. And getting Garcia some experience is my problem, not yours, so don’t worry about it. Do you remember that exercise in Hawaii, when you wound up being an acting fire team leader when I was a simulated casualty?”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Mackie swallowed again.

“That was training. This is real. It’s different. Do you understand?”

Mackie’s eyes widened. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“That’s better. Now, are you ready to take on a little responsibility?”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

“What about you, Cafferata?”

“Yes, Sergeant, I am.” Cafferata beamed.

Satisfied that the two had no further questions, Martin called out, “First squad, on me!” In a moment the other five members of the squad were standing in front of him. He briefly updated them on the condition of their three wounded Marines and told them how he was reorganizing the squad.

“It’s only temporary,” he finished. “Corporal Vittori is the senior man, both in rank and experience, so make no mistake, he’s second to me in the squad’s chain of command regardless of who’s first fire team leader. Any questions?”

The question was almost always rhetorical, and was so this time as well—nobody had any questions.

“All right, then. The situation remains the same; India Company is in reserve for the battalion, second platoon is reserve for the company, and first squad is the platoon’s reserve. We’ll be the last ones committed if, and I emphasize if the aliens attack here.”

“I have a question now, Sergeant Martin,” Mackie said.

“You couldn’t have asked it before?”

Mackie shook his head. “Before was about the squad’s reorganization. This is about our reserve status.”

“So what’s your question?”

“How good is the intelligence that the aliens aren’t likely to attack here?”

Martin gave Mackie a hard look, then glanced around to see if any officers or senior NCOs were near by. None were. He motioned everybody to close in.

“All right,” he said sotto voce, “here’s the straight scoop, so far as I know it. Nobody, not recon, Force Recon, air, or satellite, has found the aliens or signs that they were just here.

“But. . . . Here’s where it gets hairy. I’ve heard scuttlebutt that satellite observation has discovered gravitational anomalies similar to the ones on Mini Mouse, the ones where the aliens came from to attack us when we went in with the SAR birds.” He shrugged. “I know, and you probably do too, that all worlds have gravitational anomalies, and they don’t necessarily mean squat. But we also know that on Mini Mouse some of the anomalies indicated hiding places for the aliens. What that means is, maybe nobody’s here to bother us. Maybe the aliens have us outnumbered and are just waiting for us to let our guards down.”

He stepped back and allowed his voice to move back toward normal. “That’s everything I know or have heard. What I suspect is, we had best be alert, because those little bad bastards could come at us from anywhere at any time. It doesn’t matter that we’re in reserve. When they hit, they’re just as likely to hit us here as hit anybody at Millerton. And they could even pop up right here inside Jordan, so that India Company would be the First Marines engaged.

“Any more questions? No? Good! So don’t give me any shit the next time I tell you to clean your weapons. Now get back to whatever goofing off you were doing. Just keep an eye peeled for trouble, that’s all.

“And clean your damn weapons!”

Before the end of the day, the Marines of India Company were moved into the vacant houses in Jordan.



Settling in, Jordan



Over the next three days reports filtered down to the Marines planetside about elements of VII Corps being located and rescued by Navy Search and Rescue teams. The Army troops were being apportioned to the serviceable transports of ARG17 to continue their voyage to Troy. There were no reports of sightings of the enemy, in space, on Mini Mouse, or planetside.

Three days. That’s how long it took for Sergeant Martin to become a prophet.

Number 8, Sugar Clover Place, Jordan, Eastern Shapland

“What the f*ck!” Orndoff shouted. He scrabbled across the floor of the house’s living room, reaching for his rifle.

“What’s the problem?” Mackie asked. He already had his rifle in his hands by the time he looked past Orndoff and saw an alien crouched in the doorway to the dining room, pointing its weapon ahead of itself. The alien looked just like the images they’d studied on their way to Troy—head at the end of a long neck, body horizontal on top of legs that bent the wrong way, feather-like structures ran from its crown down the length of its back until they blossomed into a spray on its tail.

“Oh, shit!” Mackie shouted. He didn’t hesitate but began shooting even before he had his rifle trained on the intruder. The alien got off a short, automatic burst from its weapon before bullets from Mackie’s rifle blew it out of the doorway.

“First squad, report!” Sergeant Martin shouted from somewhere else in the house. Pounding footsteps said that he was running toward the fire.

“First fire team, we’re all right,” Mackie shouted after glancing at Orndoff to make sure he hadn’t been injured in the brief exchange of fire.

While Vittori and Cafferata were reporting no casualties in their fire teams, Mackie positioned Orndoff.

“Get behind the divan and cover me.”

“Where are you going?” Orndoff shouted.

Martin burst into the room and swept it with his eyes. “What happened, Mackie? And where are you going?” Martin demanded.

Mackie paused on his way to the door where the alien had appeared and looked at his squad leader, noticing that Martin hadn’t taken the time to grab his helmet. “An alien just came in. I blew him away. Now I’m going to see where he went.”

Martin had heard Mackie tell Orndoff what to do. He spared the PFC a glance to judge his angle of covering fire, then said, “I’m coming with you, from the other side. Where’s your helmet?”

“The same place as yours.”

“Let’s do it.”

The two approached the doorway at different angles, neither straight ahead. Mackie from the left, looking through the door to the right, Martin from the right looking into the area to the left of the doorway.

“Do you see it?” Martin asked.

“It’s not in my field of view.”

“Did it come out of the kitchen?” Martin asked. The kitchen was the only other room that entered into the dining room. Martin had reached the door and was against the wall to the right, looking as deep into the room as possible. A china cabinet and a credenza were against the walls, too close for anyone to hide behind. The dining table had a cloth, but it barely overlapped the table top, providing no way to hide underneath. Neither did the chairs placed around the table obstruct the view.

“I don’t know. It was already in the doorway by the time I saw it.” He was opposite Martin at the doorway. Between them they could see nearly the entire interior of the dining room.

“You ready?” Martin asked. When Mackie nodded, he said, “On three, you then me. One. Two. Three!”

Mackie charged through the doorway left to right, spinning to cover the corner he hadn’t been able to see into. Martin was right behind him, going right to left and covering the corner he hadn’t seen into.

“Clear,” Mackie shouted.

“Clear,” Martin echoed.

The alien wasn’t there. But. . .

“I have a blood trail,” Mackie said.

“And I’ve got a weapon,” Martin said. Turning his head back to the living room, he called, “Orndoff, get in here. Secure that.” He pointed to the alien’s—rifle, for lack of a better name to call it. Then he got on his comm to report to Second Lieutenant Commiskey.

After reporting the bare bones of what had already happened, he said, “We’ve secured the weapon and are following the blood trail into the kitchen. There’s an exit to the backyard there, maybe it came from outside.”

“When you find where it went next,” Commiskey said, “don’t pursue. Report, then we’ll decide what to do next.”

“Aye aye, report but don’t pursue.”

Commiskey signed off, presumably to report to Captain Sitter.

“Orndoff,” Martin said, “cover us. Mackie, let’s check the kitchen the same way we came in here.”

“Roger that, honcho.” Mackie answered. He froze a soon as he turned to check the corner.

“The basement door’s open,” he said softly. “And I found the body.”

“Orndoff, get in here and give us some cover,” Martin said.

Orndoff came in carrying the alien’s rifle in his left hand and his own in his right.

“Put the alien weapon down and hold your rifle like you know how to use it, Orndoff,” Mackie snapped.

Martin got on his comm. “Vittori, get your fire team into the dining room, it looks like the alien came through the kitchen from the basement. Cafferata, I want you and your fire team in the living room.” He waited for them to “roger,” then reported to Commiskey.

When he was through on his comm, he joined Mackie to examine the alien corpse. It was sprawled, both arms reaching toward the open basement door. One leg stretched out behind, the other cocked as though it had been pushing itself forward one leg at a time. Blood, a red similar to human blood but somehow not the same red, was pooled around it, but no more seemed to be leaking out of any of its wounds.

“You got your tie downs on you?” Martin asked.

“Always,” Mackie said, handing Martin one of the ties that the Marines used to bind prisoners, or secure anything else that needed to be secured.

Martin looped one end in a hasty knot around the alien’s trailing foot, then backed out of the kitchen. Mackie went ahead of him. In the dining room, with a wall between them and the alien, Martin gave the cord a sharp jerk, then a more steady pull, until he was confident the corpse had moved at least a meter.

“I guess he didn’t booby-trap himself,” Mackie said.

“Always check to make sure,” Martin said. He stood to return to the kitchen, and reeled back, shouting, “Aliens!”

There was no place to go for cover, he dropped to a knee and started firing through the kitchen door.

“Everybody, into the living room!” Martin shouted. “Take cover there.” He kept firing rapidly into the kitchen. It was enough to keep the aliens he’d seen rushing out of the basement from coming farther.

A chittering voice, commanding even though it was in a higher register than a human’s, shouted from out of sight, probably at the head of the basement stairs. Several high-pitched voices answered it, they sounded like protests, enlisted who didn’t want to go into a fire storm.

“Somebody, throw a grenade in there!”

“I got it!” Mackie shouted. He armed a grenade, and bowled it along the floor so that it ricocheted off the jam and spun behind the wall toward the basement door.

The voices in the kitchen erupted in high-pitched jabbering, accompanied by the scrabbling of something hard—claws?—on the floor. The grenade exploded, setting off shrill cries, and more commanding shouts.

Martin took advantage of the aliens’ momentary confusion to dash out of the dining room, into the living room. He got on his comm to report, and only then heard the reports from the rest of the platoon; all three of the houses the platoon was divided into were under attack from aliens that came up from the basements.

“Cafferata,” Martin shouted, “look out the windows, watch for aliens. Mackie, take Orndoff and check the bedrooms, then get back in here.”

Shouts and scrabbling from beyond the dining room announced that the aliens in the kitchen were about to charge into sight.

“Get ready!” Vittori shouted to his men.

“Orndoff, let’s go!” Mackie shouted as he raced for the bedroom hallway. There were three bedrooms along a hallway behind the living room. The first one’s door was halfway open. Mackie slammed into the door to smash anyone hiding behind it into the wall and spun away into the middle of the room, looking all around for aliens. Orndoff was close behind him.

“Orndoff, check the closet, I’ll cover you.”

“Right.” Orndoff darted to the closet and slammed its sliding door to the side. He jabbed into its corners with his rifle muzzle, but met only clothing. As soon as he announced the closet was clear, Mackie dropped down and looked under the bed. It was clear except for dust bunnies. After looking out the windows and not seeing anyone, human or alien, they ran into the next bedroom, anxious to finish their search and get back to the living room, where they heard an increasing volume of gunfire.

“The bedrooms are clear,” Mackie reported to Martin when he and Orndoff returned. “We looked outside. Didn’t see anybody, but it sounds like every occupied house has a fire fight going on inside.” He wanted to ask how things were going here, but the four alien bodies in the doorway to the dining room and continued high pitched shouts from just out of sight told him all he needed to know.

“Do you think you can bounce another grenade in there?” Martin asked him.

“I can give it a try.”

“Just don’t bounce it to someplace it’ll hit us.”

“No sweat.” Mackie moved to his right as he readied a grenade. He judged his angle, then cocked his arm and threw the grenade hard enough to spin wildly out of sight behind the wall where the alien voices came from. Before it went off, three aliens shot through the doorway, faster than the Marines could point their weapons at the rapidly moving forms and fire. In the dining room, voices rose to a new pitch just before the grenade went off. After it exploded, there were far fewer voices.

But three aliens were in the living room with the Marines. One of them leaped on Lance Corporal Fernando Garcia and another attacked Cafferata, trying to get beyond him to the window. The third darted around aimlessly.

Garcia luckily managed to get his rifle up to block the leaping alien that swung talons on the ends of its short arms at him. The Marine’s arms were enough longer to keep the talons from ripping into his chest, but they gouged deep furrows in both of his arms, sending blood shooting out. PFC Harry Harvey, a bare meter away, slammed the butt of his rifle into the alien’s head, knocking it away from Garcia before it could do any further damage to the wounded Marine. Orndoff was close enough that he could reach Garcia before anybody else. He ran to the wounded Marine and yanked the draperies from the windows to wrap around Garcia’s arms to staunch the bleeding.

Dazed, the alien was slow getting back to its feet, but that short delay was all Harvey needed to drop his rifle and get to it to snap its neck over his knee, the way Mackie had killed one of the aliens on Mini Mouse. The alien went into spasms, and its arms and legs flailed about, its head flopping about from the break in its neck. Harvey picked up his rifle, stomped on the alien’s neck just below its jaw, and shot it in the head. Its spasms stopped. Harvey turned to Garcia, and found that Orndoff was already stopping the bleeding.

Cafferata was turning to see what was going on inside the room when the alien jumped at him, so it didn’t hit him with its full force. It was still enough to knock him away from the window. The alien ignored the Marine now that he wasn’t blocking the window; it tried to jump through it, but bounced back—it hadn’t realized the clear glass meant the window was closed—right into Hill, who grabbed it high on its neck and whirled around. Something snapped, and the alien let out a distressed caw. It ran about chaotically, its head swinging from its high-held neck, until Cafferata swung his rifle at its legs, taking them out from under it. Hill jumped feet first on the alien’s chest. Bones snapped loudly.

The third alien suddenly stopped its aimless dashing about and looked at the situation it found itself in. Six Marines were facing it, holding their weapons ready to use one way or another to bring it down.

Martin was the only one who hadn’t been involved with the other aliens, and was waiting for the alien to stop long enough for him to get off a shot. He fired just as the alien bolted for the bedroom hallway. He missed.

Mackie heard the shot and turned to look. The alien was jinking side to side as it sped down the hallway, but the hall was narrow enough that it couldn’t dodge widely. Mackie began firing after it, as did Martin. They were never later able to tell which of them hit the alien, but it crashed to the floor, bleeding profusely. Mackie ran to it, knocked its weapon out of reach, and put a bullet through its head.

“Cease fire!” Martin ordered. When everybody stopped shooting, he listened very carefully. Gunfire and the shouts of Marines in battle came from other houses, but he didn’t hear any noises in his squad’s house other than the small noises his squad was making.

“Mackie, give ’em another grenade.”

“Aye aye, honcho.” Mackie stepped to the side of the dining room door and threw a grenade hard around the jam. No cries, no scrabbling joined the thunking of the grenade as it bounced in the room, no cries followed the explosion.

Martin got on his comm to report to Commiskey. It took a moment for the lieutenant to answer his call.

“Report, One,” Commiskey said over the background sound of gunfire.

“We seem to have beaten them off, Six. What the hell’s going on over there?” Martin replied.

“Same as with you, One. Everybody got hit. We’re driving them back.”

Martin shuddered. “Do you have any casualties?”

“Only one. Doc’s patching him now. How many do you have?”

“Also one WIA.” Martin looked at Garcia; the bandages on his wounds seemed to be holding. “I think he’ll be all right until a corpsman can get to us.”

“It shouldn’t be a long wait.” It sounded that way to Martin, the fire was slackening off.

“I’ll let you know when Doc’s on his way. Have you checked the entire house yet?”

“No, sir, that’s my next step.”

“Do it, then report back. Six out.”

Martin looked at Mackie, nodded toward the dining room and said, “Take a look.”

Mackie took a deep, steadying breath, and flung himself through the doorway, to land prone on the floor next to the dining table, facing the kitchen and aiming his rifle at the door.

“Second fire team, collect the weapons,” Martin ordered.

Vittori and his two men gathered the aliens’ weapons, first the ones in the doorway, then the ones near the dozen dead or dieing in the dining room. They piled the weapons in the living room, away from the dining room door, and stacked the bodies at the end of the dining room opposite the kitchen. Two of the aliens were still alive. Martin ordered their hands tied off, and for them to be placed back to back, with their elbows lashed together.

“Think they’ll survive?” Vittori asked.

“I don’t give a good goddam,” Martin said. He glanced at the two, bleeding from multiple wounds. “How’s Garcia?” he asked Orndoff.

“He’s been better.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as a corpsman dresses my wounds,” Garcia said.

“Sure you will,” Martin said, but he didn’t believe it. Garcia’s voice was weak, and he looked pale from blood loss. “Doc’s on his way.”

Turning to the rest of the squad, Martin said, “All right, let’s check out the kitchen and the basement. If these two are still alive after that, we’ll see what we can do about stopping their bleeding.”

There were another five bodies in the kitchen and three more on the stairs to the basement.

The basement was one large, bare room.

“All right, where’d they come from?” Martin said. There weren’t any exits other than the stairs the Marines had come down. “Nobody was here when we moved in. So how the hell’d they get down here?”

Nobody had an answer.

“We need the engineers to check this place out.”

They had killed nearly twenty of the aliens and captured two more. Garcia was the only wounded Marine. They had trouble believing their good luck.

“We had experience from Mini Mouse,” Martin told his men. “If it hadn’t been for that, we most likely would have lost more men just now.” He looked at the stacked corpses. “Maybe none of them had combat experience.”