Space: Above and Beyond

Round Robin Part Three

"McQueen's Marines" by John Boren

When Vansen woke up, she wasn't exactly sure if she was glad to be alive: her ears were filled with the familiar but unwelcome drone of a Chig transport's engine. She was lying on a firm but forgiving floor, staring up at a ceiling that looked as if it had been stuccoed with rancid meat. There wasn't much light, and there wasn't much to see, just a dim, murky chamber whose walls pulsated with a disturbing regularity.

The air was stale and humid, but at least it was breathable; her environment suit's oxygen supply had been exhausted a long time ago. She got up from the floor to see what, if anything, might have changed around her.

"Shane?"

It was Damphousse, sitting alone on the far side of the chamber.

"Shane, I'm glad you're awake. I was beginning to worry about you."

Shane Vansen smiled for the first time in days. " Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you. How do you feel?"

Damphousse winced and put her right hand to her forehead. "Well, I've got a headache like you wouldn't believe, but I don't think I'm ready for my funeral yet. I'll have to get checked out for a concussion, though, whenever..." Her voice trailed off. Damphousse turned her eyes downward.

"...Whenever we get back to the Saratoga," Vansen finished.

"What's going to happen to us?" Damphousse asked. She spoke as though she already knew the answer.

Vansen sat down next to Damphousse and put her right arm around the young female marine. She felt the soft warmth of Damphousse's brown skin brush against her wrist. 'Phousse looked up at Vansen, her eyes looking for all the world like those of a lost child.

Or a lost sister.

"We are going to survive," Vansen said, speaking in a hoarse whisper.

'Phousse smirked, just a little, and said, "A fighter to the bitter end, as always."

"You're damn right," Vansen said.

The volume of the Chig ship's engines grew louder. Their center of gravity shifted, then returned to normal.

"I think we're landing," Damphousse said.

The engine's rumbling grew more intense. The floor beneath them gave a shudder, then was still. The engines quieted. Silence.

Vansen and Damphousse quickly stood, facing the entry to their chamber. They heard the sound of heavy footfalls from the other side.

Someone was coming.

Vansen looked at Damphousse. "This is it. Are you ready?"

"Ready," Damphousse said.

They both assumed a fighting stance.

The entry to the chamber did not open so much as tear itself apart, splitting with a hideous wet slickness. Light poured into the small chamber. Vansen and Damphousse covered their eyes, unprepared for the sudden change from near total darkness. Through splayed fingers, 'Phousse saw three humanoid shapes silhouetted against the searing brightness; she quickly recognized two hulking forms as Chig soldiers. The third figure, standing between the first two, was smaller, slimmer. It wasn't a Chig, but it didn't seem completely human, either.

There was a muted sound: a strange metallic whirring noise.

Damphousse looked to Vansen. Vansen stood, ready to strike, her face twisted into a scowl of contempt.

There was another strange whirr as the shadow turned towards Vansen.

A voice spoke.

"Don't be in such a hurry to get yourself killed, my dear. Therewill be plenty of time for that. You have been brought to me by my associates so that I might ask a few questions of you. You see, I am rather renowned for my ability to...Extract information from the most unlikely of sources."

Again there was the whirring noise, this time louder as the silhouette raised his arms in a formal gesture of greeting.

"Welcome to my house," the voice said. "Enter freely, and of your own will. And leave some of the happiness you bring."

Elroy-L stepped out of the light. He was smiling.

* * * * * *

Cooper Hawkes and Nathan West sat at a table by themselves in one of the Saratoga's recreation rooms. They hadn't slept well the night before, with good reason. Discovering their commanding officer had plans to kill them ruined any chance for a restful slumber. They weren't scheduled for active duty until tomorrow, so they sat, staring into their very potent drinks.

"Wang is alive," Hawkes said.

"Yeah," West replied.

"So why are we acting like that's bad news? We gotta do something."

"What can we do? You heard Dembicki and Fairbanks. They want us dead. They want us all dead."

"Who the Hell are 'they' ?" Hawkes said.

"I don't know. Maybe..."

West took a swig of his drink, his face drawing tight as the alcohol burned the back of his throat.

"Aerotech," West said. "Think about it. This whole damn war started over whatever was going on between them and the Chigs."

"But what makes us so freakin' special?" Frustration cut deep into Hawke's voice.

"It's because we landed on Anvil," West said." We saw the Chigs up close and personal. Maybe we saw something else, something Aerotech doesn't want to get out."

"But what about the war?" Hawkes asked.

West swallowed more of the harsh whiskey, but didn't answer.

"Damn it, Wang is rotting in some hellhole, and we gotta get him out!"

"Don't you think I know that? I want to go as bad as you do, but we can't just get up and leave! We need help. A lot of help. But McQueen is on a medical cruiser back to Earth, and Boss Ross already has his hands full keeping us from being put in the stockade. And for all we know, the whole squad is in on this, not just Fairbanks and Colonel Dembicki. Coop, we are fresh out of friends. Who the Hell can we trust?"

"You might start with me."

Surprised, Hawkes and West turned around to look towards the rec room's entryway. Lieutenant Willam Saunders stood a few paces from their table.

"How long have you been standing there?" Hawkes asked.

"Only a minute. You know, you guys were were pretty slick, laying that chip on Fairbanks. But you ought to have looked around first, made sure there were no witnesses."

West shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Hawkes mouth dropped open with an audible pop.

"I heard it all last night. Colonel Dembicki. Fairbanks. The way you were being set up. Your buddy Wang, everything." Saunders pulled up a chair. "You guys are diving head-first into a world of hurt. I don't want to see that happen. I want to help, if I can."

Saunders sat down at the table, across from Hawkes and West.

Hawkes looked at Saunders very carefully. "How do we know you're telling the truth?"

"If I was out to get you," Saunders said, "I would have run straight to Dembicki and told him about what you two were doing. I wouldn't walk up and give myself away, would I?"

"Fair enough," West said." But if you know we're in this thing up to our eyebrows, why would you want to help us? Anybody that sticks their neck out for the five eight is liable to get their skulls made into Chig ashtrays."

Saunders closed his eyes and lowered his head, as if to gather his thoughts, then looked up again. "Semper Fi. Always faithful. You know what it means. The Wildcards were always there for each other, weren't they? You've been priviledged to know that kind of bond. Me, I've been forced to watch friends die in explosions that didn't make a sound, torn to pieces by some alien monster that writes ABANDON ALL HOPE on the side of its ship like it's a joke. I've watched people I care about turned into a pile of bloody rags over some rock that meant nothing to no one except a general's pencil-pushers. I've been in this war long enough to be the sole survivor of my squadron. Twice."

A moment passed. No one said anything.

"I am very, very tired of having to stand by and watch."

Hawkes and West looked at each other, unsure what to make of the situation. They were going grill Saunders a little more, prod him, see if he what he said checked out, but---

"Heads up. Here comes trouble," Saunders said.

"There you are, you tank bastard!" Fairbanks growled as she stomped her way into the rec room.

Then all Hell broke loose.

* * * * * *

West, Hawkes, Saunders, and Fairbanks stood at attention in the office of Commodore Ross. Hawke's right eye was swelling, courtesy of a Fairbanks sucker punch; the squadron patch on his uniform had been ripped off, leaving a blank spot surrounded by a few loose threads.

Fairbank's wildly unkempt hair made her look like a sulking porcupine,and the left sleeve of her fatigues was torn from elbow to wrist. West had small cuts on his left temple and had similar damage to his clothing as that of Hawkes and Fairbanks. Only Saunders appeared relatively unscathed.

Commodore Ross sat behind his desk, glowering at the four disheveled Marines. "If you have anything to say for yourselves," Ross said, "don't bother."

Fairbanks started to speak. "Sir, I respectfully---"

Ross cut her off. "Fairbanks, so far, your conduct has demonstrated that you don't respect a god damn thing. For the last time, shut up."

Fairbanks remained silent, but the hatred in her eyes was unmistakable.

Ross turned his attention to the three men."Gentlemen, you have new orders. As soon as you leave this office and have your injuries looked after, you are to proceed immediately to launch bay three. You will take command of the transport in that bay and fly it to Delta Epsilon for a rendevous with a supply frigate awaiting formation of a wormhole to Earth sector there. This is a standard TPR mission, with a flight time of approximately thirty-two hours round trip, including a six hour layover at Epsilon. West, Hawkes, I strongly suggest that you use this time to decide just what exactly you wish your future to be on this ship. Mister Saunders, I'm not sure what part you play in all of this, but I advise you do the same."

"And as for you," Ross said, turning to Fairbanks," you are to report to Colonel Dembicki immediately. I believe he has something special in mind for you. But one more thing: if you cause one more disturbance on my ship, I will personally throw your scrawny ass into the nearest airlock and send you to where no one has gone before. Are we clear?"

"Yes. Sir." Fairbanks said.

"Very good," Ross said. "That is all, Marines. Dismissed."

The soldiers relaxed and marched slowly out the door. Fairbanks barged her way past Hawkes, West, and Saunders towards Dembicki's office.

The three men watched her walk away. She never looked back.

"That lady has got a serious problem," Saunders said.

"I've seen people like her before," Hawkes said.

West said, "Well, Boss Ross let us off easy. We could all be in the brig right now."

"Yeah, thank God for small favors," Saunders replied.

"Actually, it could be more than that," West said. " There's more than just a supply frigate at Delta Epsilon waiting on that wormhole.

There's a whole caravan of ships there..."

"...Including McQueen's medical ship," Hawkes said, realizing West's line of thought. " We can talk to him, he'll know what to do!"

Saunders stopped and asked in a quiet voice, " Are you talking about Colonel T.C. McQueen? The in vitro who took out the Red Baron?"

"One in the same," West said. "What about it?"

Saunders looked away for a second, then snapped back to reality.

"Uh, nothing. Just wondering," Saunders said. "What's a TPR mission, anyway?"

West and Hawkes looked at each other, surprised at Saunder' slack of knowledge.

"Toilet paper run," Hawkes said.

* * * * * *

Colonel T.C. McQueen was lying in a hospital bed, connected to a half dozen pieces of monitoring equipment via a snarled tangle of wires and electrodes. On his right arm, just below the elbow, a clear thin rubber tube protruded from beneath a loose bandage; the tube connected to a transparent plastic bag that hung upside-down from a narrow aluminum pole that stood next to his bed. McQueen marked the time by the sound of the liquid dripping out of the bag. His right leg, from the knee down, was enshrouded with what appeared to be a stainless steel cocoon; on the side just below the knee cap, there was a small data display and flashing LED readouts. He was in a private room, per his request, facing the window. McQueen looked at the black motionless sky, lost in his thoughts. Even an omniscient God would have been at a loss to guess what insights or reflections were passing through this soldier's enigmatic mind, or his troubled soul.

"Sir?"

McQueen turned to face the doorway to his room. He saw Lieutenant West, Hawkes, and a young man whose face he thought he recognized, but could not remember the name.

"You men should be on duty," McQueen said.

West spoke. " This isn't a social call sir, even if it is good to see you. How are you feeling?"

"Well," McQueen said, "I'm not going to be invited to any ass-kicking contests in the near future, but I'll manage."

The three wingmen grinned as they walked into McQueen's room.

As they stood by the Colonel's bed, Hawkes examined the metal cast. "Hey, they saved your leg after all! I thought," Hawkes paused, realizing he'd said something before thinking it through for the ten thousandth time, "uh, I thought that, um,you'd lost it."

"They didn't exactly save it," McQueen said. "That damn Chigger's bomb just about blew it clean off. However, it was decided I would be the perfect guinea pig for a new technique; they're growing a new leg for me."

"Wow," Hawkes said.

"The med-techs even said it was a good thing I was born in vitro. Apparently, the thorough cataloguing and indexing of our DNA makes this a lot easier to pull off than with people conceived by...natural means." As the colonel finished speaking, he observed the as-yet unnamed young man accompanying Hawkes and West. The man betrayed no embarrassment at the mention of his conception, unlike most normals; if anything, this mystery pilot seemed to be in awe of him.

McQueen said, "What's your name, soldier?"

"Sir! William Saunders, sir."

A pause. "You were with the 18th. Call sign Greywolf."

"Yes. Sir." Saunders turned his face downward.

Another pause. Mcqueen turned to West. "You came here for a reason," McQueen said, "Let's hear it."

"Sir, there's something going on back at the Saratoga. Something...wrong."

For the next seven minutes, West and Hawkes explained what they heard: Anne Fairbanks and Colonel Dembicki's heated discussion of how they planned to execute the surviving members of the 58th squadron, and, almost as an afterthought, that Paul Wang was still alive, captive on a silicate-controlled mining station that was just a short hop from Ixion. Through it all,McQueen's face was a stone cold mask.

"You are absolutely sure about this," McQueen said.

"Yes sir," West said.

The three men waited as the Colonel measured their words.

Finally, McQueen spoke.

"I'll do what I can from this end. Whatever eavesdropping equipment you used, get rid of it. Is that understood?"

The three men acknowledged the Colonel in unison.

McQueen continued. "In the meantime, do not attract attention to yourselves. As of right now, you were never here. Go back to the Saratoga. Resume your duties. Follow orders. Watch your backs."

Despite what all the hospital monitors said, Hawkes was sure Colonel McQueen's body temperature had just dropped twenty degrees.

"That will be all, gentlemen."

As they were leaving, McQueen said, " Mister Saunders. I believe you had something more to say."

Saunders looked at Hawkes and West. " I'll catch up with you guys,okay?"

Hawkes and West nodded and left.

With a slight hesitation in his voice, Saunders said, "Colonel, in case you're wondering about me, I overheard them when they put the bug on Fairbanks. I told them I wanted to help any way I could. I think the five eight's been getting a raw deal from the get-go. Sir, I want you to know you can depend on me."

"That's good to know," McQueen said, " tell me the real reason why you are here."

"Sir, I..." Saunders noticed the color of Colonel McQueen's eyes. Ice blue.

"Sir, you...You killed the Red Baron. I want to know how you did it."

The Colonel's eyes drifted away from Saunders and fixated on a point on the horizon. After a long uncomfortable silence, McQueen's gaze shifted back to Saunders.

"A long time ago, I knew someone; a marine named Winslow. Like yourself, She wondered how I was going to deal with the Red Baron. I told her that there comes a time in everyone's life when we must ask ourselves, and answer, "Who am I?"

McQueen paused.

"I found the answer to my question. That is how I killed the Red Baron."

Saunders said, "I don't understand."

"You will."

Saunders started to speak, be he could think of nothing to say.

"You'd better get going," Mcqueen said.

Saunders walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"I hope your answers are better than mine," McQueen said.

On a nightstand by the hospital bed, there was a pitcher of water, an empty glass, and a rectangular black plastic slab. McQueen filled the glass with water and unfolded the slab; the lower portion had a keyboard embedded into its surface. As Mcqueen drank the water, he entered a series of security codes. After a few minutes, a picture appeared on the upper half of the shiny black plastic.

"This is Commodore Ross," the picture said.

"Ross, this is McQueen. We have to talk."