Lines of Departure by Marko Kloos

Author:Marko Kloos
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781477817407
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2014-01-27T11:00:00+00:00

I spend the rest of the day sighting in my rifles and running my new battle armor through all its self-test protocols. My specialized combat controller kit is two generations behind the stuff that burned up in my locker on the Manitoba, but all the comms and network modules work as they should, and my armor doesn’t have any dents or leaks. Without a bug suit, my combat endurance on a Lanky world is measured in hours instead of days, but since none of the other grunts have been issued a HEBA kit, I consider it a fairly safe bet that we’re not going head-on against an established Lanky colony.

Like a good soldier, I head down to Foxtrot Deck fifteen minutes early. Unit F2029 is a maintenance and storage cube in a corner of the grease monkey zone by the hangar, partitioned from the rest of the deck with plastalloy mesh wiring. Two HD troopers stand by the open entrance, but they don’t do anything to keep me from entering. In the storage cube, someone has piled up stacks of modular equipment crates all along the mesh walls, forming a sight barrier eight feet high. Inside the makeshift privacy walls, more equipment crates have been requisitioned as furniture, serving as benches and tables. There are a dozen HD troopers lounging in the storage unit, and all of them turn their heads my way when I walk in.

“Get lost somewhere, Sergeant?” a first lieutenant asks me, with only the barest hint of cordiality in his voice.

“Looking for Master Sergeant Fallon,” I say. The stares from the HD troopers aren’t exactly hostile, but they’re not welcoming, either. I’m suddenly keenly aware of the fact that I came down here unarmed, and that every one of the HD grunts in the room is wearing at least a combat knife.

“He’s okay,” Sergeant Fallon’s voice comes from behind me. She steps past me into the room, still in battle armor. “Grayson was one of my guys in the 365th. He’s been in the shit with me.”

The suppressed hostility dissipates from the room. I notice that even the first lieutenant instantly defers to Sergeant Fallon. She walks over to one of the makeshift benches and drops down on it with a grunt.

“Come and have a seat, Grayson,” she says. “The guys don’t bite. We’re all friends down here.”

I do as directed and sit down across the makeshift table from Sergeant Fallon, who is opening the latches of her chest and back plates with practiced hands. She pulls off the hard shells of the outer armor and lets them drop to the deck.

“Long fucking day,” she says to me, and puts her feet up on the crate that serves as a table. “I don’t know how you fleet pukes can stand it, spending months in these coffins. I’ve only been walking around in here for a day and a half, and I’m already getting claustrophobic.”

“It helps to remind yourself just how much room there is on the other side of that hull,” I say.

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