For the day, 2nd Platoon came through pretty well; two dead, including Watson, and four wounded, only one seriously. She'd be spending the next month growing back her lower intestine, while the other three would be up and back on duty in a matter of days. All things considered, things could have been worse. A Consu armored hovercraft had rammed its way toward 4th Platoon, Company C's position and detonated, taking sixteen of them with it, including the platoon commander and two squad leaders, and wounding much of the rest of the platoon. If 4th Platoon's lieutenant weren't already dead, I'd suspect he'd be wishing he were after a clusterfuck like that.
After we received an all clear from Lieutenant Keyes, I went back to get Watson. A group of eight-legged scavengers was already at him; I shot one and that encouraged the rest to disperse. They had made impressive progress on him in a short amount of time; I was sort of darkly surprised at how much less someone weighed after you subtracted his head and much of his soft tissues. I put what was left of him in a fireman's carry and started on the couple of klicks to the temporary morgue. I had to stop and vomit only once.
Alan spied me on the way in. "Need any help?" he said, coming up alongside me.
"I'm fine," I said. "He's not very heavy anymore."
"Who is it?" Alan said.
"Watson," I said.
"Oh, him," Alan said, and grimaced. "Well, I'm sure someone somewhere will miss him."
"Try not to get all weepy on me," I said. "How did you do today?"
"Not bad," Alan said. "I kept my head down most of the time, poked my rifle up every now and then and shot a few rounds in the general direction of the enemy. I may have hit something. I don't know."
"Did you listen to the death chant before the battle?"
"Of course I did," Alan said. "It sounded like two freight trains mating. It's not something you can choose not to hear."
"No," I said. "I mean, did you get a translation? Did you listen to what it was saying?"
"Yeah," Alan said. "I'm not sure I like their plan for converting us to their religion, seeing as it involves dying and all."
"The CDF seems to think it's just ritual. Like it's a prayer they recite because it's something they've always done," I said.
"What do you think?" Alan asked.
I jerked my head back to indicate Watson. "The Consu who killed him was screaming, 'Redeemed, redeemed,' as loud as he could, and I'm sure he'd have done the same while he was gutting me. I'm thinking the CDF is underestimating what's going on here. I think the reason the Consu don't come back after one of these battles isn't because they think they've lost. I don't think this battle is really about winning or losing. By their lights, this planet is now consecrated by blood. I think they think they own it now."
"Then why don't they occupy it?"
"Maybe it's not time," I said. "Maybe they have to wait until some sort of Armageddon. But my point is, I don't think the CDF knows whether the Consu consider this their property now or not. I think somewhere down the line, they're going to be mightily surprised."
"Okay, I'll buy that," Alan said. "Every military I've ever heard of has a history of smugness. But what do you propose to do about it?"
"Shit, Alan, I haven't the slightest idea," I said. "Other than to try to be long dead when it happens."
"On an entirely different, less depressing subject," Alan said, "good job thinking up the firing solution for the battle. Some of us were really getting pissed off that we'd shoot those bastards and they'd just get up and keep coming. You're going to get your drinks bought for you for the next couple of weeks."
"We don't pay for drinks," I said. "This is an all-expenses-paid tour of hell, if you'll recall."
"Well, if we did, you would," Alan said.
"I'm sure it's not that big of a deal," I said, and then noticed that Alan had stopped and was standing at attention. I looked up and saw Viveros, Lieutenant Keyes, and some officer I didn't recognize striding toward me. I stopped and waited for them to reach me.
"Perry," Lieutenant Keyes said.
"Lieutenant," I said. "Please forgive the lack of salute, sir. I'm carrying a dead body to the morgue."
"That's where they go," Keyes said, and motioned at the corpse. "Who is that?"
"Watson, sir."
"Oh, him," Keyes said. "That didn't take very long, did it."
"He was excitable, sir," I said.
"I suppose he was," Keyes said. "Well, anyway. Perry, this is Lieutenant Colonel Rybicki, the 233rd's commander."
"Sir," I said. "Sorry about not saluting."
"Yes, dead body, I know," said Rybicki. "Son, I just wanted to congratulate you on your firing solution today. You saved a lot of time and lives. Those Consu bastards keep switching things up on us. Those personal shields were a new touch and they were giving us a hell of a lot of trouble there. I'm putting you in for a commendation, Private. What do you think about that?"
"Thank you, sir," I said. "But I'm sure someone else would have figured it out eventually."
"Probably, but you figured it out first, and that counts for something."
"Yes, sir."
"When we get back to the Modesto, I hope you'll let an old infantryman buy you a drink, son."
"I'd like that, sir," I said. I saw Alan smirk in the background.
"Well, then. Congratulations again." Rybicki motioned at Watson. "And sorry about your friend."
"Thank you, sir." Alan saluted for the both of us. Rybicki saluted back, and wheeled off, followed by Keyes. Viveros turned back to me and Alan.
"You seem amused," Viveros said to me.