Issue In Doubt

CHAPTER Eight

Land the Landing Force, Semi-Autonomous World Troy



“All right, Marines, line it up!” Staff Sergeant Guillen roared.

“Get out there and get in line!” the squad leaders shouted.

“Move, move, move!” the fire team leaders cried.

There was a pounding of boots on the deck and a clatter of loose gear jerking about. Here an “Oof.” There a grunt. Elsewhere a curse as the Marines of third platoon scrambled out of the squad compartments in which they’d billeted for the trip. They scrambled into a double line in the passageway, one line on each side, jostling one another in their haste, and trying not to bump into their squad leaders or the platoon sergeant.

“Squad leaders, report!” Guillen ordered as the thirty-nine Marines settled into position.

“Fire team leaders, report!” the squad leaders echoed.

“First fire team, all present and accounted for!”

“Second fire team, all present and accounted for!”

“Third fire team, all present and accounted for!” came the replies, one of each for each of the three squads.

“First squad, all present and accounted for!” And the same for second and third squads.

Guillen clasped his hands behind his back and strode the length of the platoon, looking at each Marine as he passed, his experienced eye looking to make certain every man had everything he needed to carry for the landing. None failed his inspection—all possible failures had already been dealt with by the squad leaders inside the compartments before they fell out.

“You know the drill,” Guillen said when he reached the far end of the platoon. “As many times as we’ve done this, you damn well better know it.” He looked past the platoon to where Second Lieutenant Commiskey stood just beyond the end of the formation.

“Sir, third platoon is all present and accounted for, and ready to move out.”

“Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” the platoon commander replied. “You may take the platoon to its boarding point.”

“Aye aye, sir. Third platoon, face aft!”

The Marines pivoted, those on one side of the passageway facing to their right, those on the other to their left.

“Third platoon, route step, march!”

They moved out, not marching in step, turning this way and that as they wended their way through the passageways, up ladders and down, until they linked up with the rest of India Company at a closed hatch outside the hanger deck. Elsewhere on the Iwo Jima other platoons and companies were assembling at equally closed hatches leading to the hanger deck until all of 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines was ready. First and second battalions followed in trace.

A clanging from the other side of the hatches announced bosons mates undogging them. In a moment the hatches were flung open, and the Marines surged through, urged on by the “Move move move!” of platoon sergeants and squad leaders.

“Follow the yellow lines!” the bosons mates shouted at the Marines racing past them. As if the Marines needed the reminder—they’d rehearsed going through the hanger deck to their assigned shuttles so many times during the past five days they could have found their way in their sleep. Or so many of them claimed. Nonetheless, “Follow the yellow lines!” the bosons mates shouted again and again. They had to keep shouting the instruction—sailors think Marines are dumb. Hey, you aren’t going to catch squid-boy landing on a hostile planet where he can get his sweet ass shot off. Nossiree!

“Now what do we do?” PFC Zion groused a couple of minutes after third platoon crammed itself into a shuttle.

“Now we wait for what comes next,” Corporal Adriance said.

Lance Corporal Mackie didn’t say anything, just squinched his shoulders, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could, jammed shoulder to shoulder against Adriance and Zion, with his pack pressed against his back, the items on his combat-loaded belt poking into his hips and thighs and midriff.

It was long minutes of uncomfortable waiting before they heard faintly through the armor of the shuttle, “Land the landing force!”

Rumbles announced the suctioning of the atmosphere from the hangar deck, followed by the opening of the bay doors. More rumbles and jerks told of tractors moving the shuttles to the launch ramp. With a final shove, the shuttles lost the gravity generated within the starship, and they began drifting away to a distance where it was safe to light their engines. Minutes later, more than fifty shuttles were in formation and began the plunge planetward.

Inside the windowless shuttles the Marines couldn’t see the flashes of the barrage the destroyers of TF-8 were laying on the landing zone, nor could they see the atmospheric aircraft off the carrier Admiral Scott orbiting to begin their strafing runs when the barrage stopped.



Planetfall, Semi-Autonomous World Troy



The shuttles touched down at hundred and fifty meter intervals five klicks from Millerton. Not all of them touched the ground; some hovered two or three meters above the scrub-covered dirt. The Marines scrambled off, some running straight from the ramps, others having to jump a meter or two from the ramp’s lip to the ground. They raced a hundred meters from the shuttles, spreading out and getting on line in squads and platoons and companies. Fifteen seconds after touching down, the shuttles launched, jumping straight up on the downward-facing jets on their undersides. Their combined roars would have burst the eardrums of the Marines, had they not been wearing full-head helmets insulated to block exterior sounds. Still, some noise got through, momentarily deafening the Marines. At five hundred meters altitude the shuttles angled their noses upward and fired their main engines, shooting up into the atmosphere and back to orbit.

By then, more than three thousand Marines were on the ground, in prone shooting positions, scanning the surrounding landscape, ready to repel an assault. In addition to their personal weapons, one fire team leader in each squad used a motion detector, one used an infrared scanner, and the third had a sniffer checking for chemical signs of animal life wafting on the breeze. The Marines watched through the spotty fires set off by the shuttles’ jets.

“Ears!” the command came down from Regiment to the battalions when the shuttles’ roar was sufficiently muted by distance.

“Ears!” the command went from battalions to companies.

“Ears!” the command went from companies to each Marine on the defensive line.

“Turn on your ears,” Sergeant Martin ordered first squad.

“Unplug your ears,” Corporal Adriance told his men.

Now they listened, as well as watching with their eyes and their detectors. At first all they heard was the faint crackling of the fires that were quickly dying down, the minor noises made by the Marines to their sides, and the buzzing of flying insectoids. After a few moments, the cries of avians picked up, as did the rustling of small animals skittering through the scrub.

The Marines waited and watched for an hour and then some, while regimental and battalion headquarters launched a dozen and a half Unmanned Aerial Vehicles disguised as local flying animals to circle in ever-widening orbits, seeking enemy positions or movement. Three of the UAVs went directly to Millerton, where two made swooping orbits and the other perched on one of the pylons anchoring the space elevator.

All any of the UAVs saw was a landscape or cityscape devoid of animate life.



1st Marines HQ, Five Klicks West of Millerton



Colonel Justice M. Chambers, the commanding officer of the 1st Marines, listened to the report of Major Reginald R. Myers, the regiment’s S2, intelligence officer, regarding the total lack of human or vaguely humanoid forms seen anywhere within a ten kilometer radius of the landing zone. Chambers comm-linked with his battalion commanders.

“First battalion, I want you to secure this landing zone until the next wave lands. Once a battalion of the Fifth Marines is here to relieve you, move forward to positions west of Millerton. Second battalion, secure the space elevator to prepare a landing field for the airedales. 3rd Battalion, have two companies sweep through the city to make sure nobody’s home, and have one company send platoon-size patrols ten klicks beyond the city. Headquarters Company, move to the elevator and set up in its buildings.

“Questions?”

There were no questions, all the battalion commanders understood the commander’s intent. And they all knew that “airedale” was the derogatory term ground-combat Marines used for Marine air units and their personnel.



On the Move, South of Millerton



“Third platoon, saddle up!” Staff Sergeant Guillen shouted. “We’re moving out.”

“Ah, just when we were getting settled in,” Lance Corporal Mackie quipped.

“That’s Mother Corps for you, Mackie,” Corporal Adriance said. “As soon as you relax, she’s got work for you to do.” Then to Sergeant Martin, “Where we going, honcho?”

“You know as much as I do,” the squad leader replied. “Is everybody up and ready?” He looked along the line of his squad and, by focusing hard, was able to make out that everyone was on his feet. It was a long time since he’d last been discomfited by how hard it was to see Marines in their cammies. He turned to look where he thought the platoon’s command group stood and waited for the next order.

“Squads in line,” came the order from Second Lieutenant Commiskey. “First squad on the left, second in the middle, third on the right. First squad link with Kilo Company on your left, third squad link second platoon with on your right. Wait for my signal.”

“First fire team, me, second, third,” Martin gave his squad their marching order. The Marines quickly got in order.

“Orndoff, me, Mackie, Zion,” Adriance told his men. “Zion, make sure you don’t lose Sergeant Martin.”

“As if,” PFC Zion snorted. “I don’t think it’s possible for the honcho to lose touch with the man in front of him even if that man’s trying to break contact.”

“I heard that, Zion,” Martin said. “And you better believe it.”

A moment later the command to move out came down. 3rd Battalion, which had been on the right side of the regiment’s defensive line, hardly had to veer to go past the right side of the area where isolated flames still licked. They skirted the south side of the small city, where the houses and other buildings petered out and gave way to fields and thin woods. India Company, on the left of the battalion formation, filtered through the structures.



On the Southern Outskirts of Millerton



“India Company, check inside the buildings,” Lieutenant Colonel Ray Davis, the battalion commander, ordered. “I don’t want anybody popping up behind us. Kilo, Lima, slow your pace so India doesn’t fall behind.”

India Company’s first and second platoons encountered and quickly searched structures before third platoon finally did.

“First fire team, check it out,” Martin ordered as first squad approached a two story, white-painted clapboard house with gabled roof and a porch that wrapped around the near side of the building.

“Aye aye,” Adriance answered.

“Orndoff, Zion, look in the windows. Mackie, go around and get ready to go through the front door when I tell you to.”

There were two windows on the first floor of the side facing them. They climbed over the porch railing, and the two junior men headed to the windows to cautiously look into them. Mackie went around the corner to the front door, and Adriance took position at the corner where he could cover all three of his men.

“All I see is an empty room,” Orndoff said.

“What about furniture?” Martin asked.

“Yeah, it’s got furniture. And what looks like an entertainment center. But no people, no animals, no aliens.”

“Same thing here,” Zion reported. “It’s a bedroom. At least, it’s got a bed.”

“Can either of you see through a door into the rest of the house?”

“The bedroom door’s ajar, but I can’t really see anything beyond it,” Zion said.

“I see a door. It’s wide open,” Orndoff reported. “Beyond it there’s just another room with furniture, and a window on its far side. No curtains or drapes on the window. Not closed curtains, anyway.”

“All right, hold your positions, and let me know if anything changes. And keep watch behind yourselves.”

“Aye aye,” they said.

“Mackie, wait for me, then we go in.”

A large hole had been broken out in the lower part of the front door, but the hole’s top was too low for a human to duck through without doubling over. The door’s bottom scraped along the floor when Mackie, standing to its side, shoved it open. Adriance stood on the doorway’s other side. Both Marines had their rifles ready and their helmets’ ears turned up. There was no sound from inside the house.

“Go!” Adriance said.

In well practiced movements, Mackie darted through the doorway and to his right, looking everywhere, with his rifle muzzle pointing where he looked. Adriance followed on Mackie’s heels and to the left, likewise looking everywhere, muzzle sweeping along with his eyes.

Dust motes dancing in the sunlight streaming through the window on the room’s left provided the only movement. There was no sound except for the blood pounding in their ears, and the breath in their helmets.

On the right wall was the open door to the room Orndoff was looking into. Another open door on the left of the back wall led into another room. A stairwell leading up was on the rear wall’s right. Another door, ajar, was on the side wall near the stairs.

“Cover me,” Adriance said. “I’m going to check that back room.”

“Right.” Mackie moved to his left front, to where he could see into the back room. It was a large kitchen.

Adriance went behind Mackie to reach the kitchen, staying out of his line of fire, then ducked low to enter the room.

After a moment, he called, “Mackie, get in here.”

Mackie didn’t run getting into the kitchen—there hadn’t been any urgency in Adriance’s voice—but still went in quickly. It only took him a second to locate his fire team leader; the camouflage pattern wasn’t as effective indoors as out.

“Check it out,” Adriance said, pointing at the stove and a table set for six. A pot of something long gone to rot and mold was on the stove. The same was true of three of the six bowls on the table. It was as though the residents had been interrupted halfway through serving dinner, but not so suddenly that whoever was serving didn’t have time to put the pot back on the stove.

“Damn,” Mackie murmured.

“Cover me,” Adriance said, and headed for two doors on the far side of the kitchen. One door was open; it was a slope-ceilinged pantry with a cold-storage unit. Adriance opened the storage unit, flinched away, and slammed it shut again. “It’s loaded with organics that’ve gone bad,” he said, and shuddered. There was nothing else in the pantry that could conceal a body, living or dead. He went to the closed door. It opened to a small water closet. Again, no one was in it.

“You know what’s weird?” Mackie asked.

“Tell me,” Adriance said absently as he headed out of the kitchen and to the stairs leading up.

“There’s no blood, no sign of a fight except for the broken front door, and nothing seems out of place.”

“You noticed,” Adriance said dryly. Let’s check out the second deck, and then get out of here.” Second deck, not second floor. The Marine Corps was born in Navy ports and on Navy ships, so Marines use many Navy terms.

“Aye aye.” Mackie took the lead going to the second floor. Again, he didn’t race but still went rapidly, stepping along the side of the stairs so they wouldn’t creak. Halfway up the stairs took a turn to the left, over the pantry. At the top, he looked left before turning to the right and stepping out of Adriance’s way.

The second floor was smaller than the first, and had three bedrooms. One, larger than the others, had its own bathroom. A second bathroom was between the other two bedrooms, and was obviously shared by their occupants. One bedroom had bunk beds.

“Parents’ room, kids’ rooms,” Adriance said.

“Three kids had to share one bathroom,” Mackie said with a shake of his head, relegating the former occupants of the house to the past tense. “I hope they weren’t all girls.”

Adriance grunted.

They were checking inside the last of the closets when Sergeant Martin’s voice came over the comm. “First fire team, get a move on in there, we need to move.”

“Just finishing up,” Adriance reported back. “We’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

That first two story, white-painted clapboard house was typical of what India Company found on the south side of Millerton. No bodies, no sign of struggle, very little out of place, hardly any blood. The southern fringe was like the Mary Celeste, a nineteenth century ship found abandoned off Portugal, seaworthy and fully provisioned, with no sign of foul play to explain the disappearance of her crew and passengers.

The heart of the city was very different. It was obvious that a fierce battle had been fought there. Structures were severely damaged, some burned to their foundations. Broken vehicles littered the streets. Unpaved ground was gouged. Blood stains were everywhere.

But there wasn’t a single person, human or alien, to be found. Not even a body part. Not even a dog or a cat turned feral.

That feral dog Force Recon saw must have died, Mackie thought.

As ordered, India Company sent out three platoon-size patrols ten klicks east of Millerton. None of them found any sign of human or alien life, or domestic animals gone feral.

A battalion from the Fifth Marines landed in the second wave, escorting Marine Tactical Air Command Squadron 28, and Marine Attack Squadron 214 from Marine Air Group 14; the squadrons took off for the McKenzie Elevator Base as soon as they were off-loaded from the shuttles. The battalion relieved First Battalion, 1st Marines and secured the landing zone while the rest of the First Marine Combat Force made planetfall.