Gehenna Station, a Tale of the Imperial Marines

JR Hume

 Sample Chapter from the book:

Ch 2: Gehenna Station

Cord and two other Marines he hadn't seen on the ship were taken to the surface of Inferno in a robot shuttle.  Strapped-down boxes of supplies took up most of the deck space.  He stumbled along a narrow space between the cargo and the outer wall and fell groaning into a dingy troop seat.  His head pounded with savage intensity.  Tiny ogres plied red hot tongs in every muscle and joint.  He fumbled with the harness, fingers stiff and clumsy.

No one had ever died in her bed, she claimed.  He still lived, so Cord allowed that to be literal truth, but entered a silent objection to the court.  Her bed had played little part in the night's activities.  Besides, she must have forgotten to mention those victims who expired enroute to sick bay.

A grinning MP handcuffed the three of them to metal supports.  "Don't worry, Lieutenant.  It's just so none of you fall out the hatch on the way down."  The man chuckled and left.  Cord couldn't summon the will to be annoyed.  Thinking made his head hurt.

"MPs all think they're real wits," snarled a lean, sharp faced Marine.  His coverall sleeves bore the imprint of corporal stripes.

"Mikel Zukav," he said, holding out a hand.  "Late of the 3^rd Marines.  Don't pay any attention to that Quog-brain, sir."

The other man grinned at the lieutenant's disarray. "Hal De'Croix, sir.  I work -- used to work at Fleet Admin."  There was nothing remarkable about him.  Medium build, round, open face -- he didn't look like a Marine.

Cord mumbled his name.  Zukav frowned.  "You gonna be the officer in charge, sir?"

"Yeah."

"A petty officer on the ship told me the last lieutenant ended up as raptor crap."  He watched the blood drain from Cord's face.  "The guy swore it was true, sir."  He drew his feet back.  "You're not gonna be sick, are you sir?"

"No, I'm -- I'm fine."  Cord leaned back in his seat, eyes closed. He tamped at his fear and tried to imagine what raptors looked like.  The beasts had figured into alcohol-laced discussions at various officer's clubs, but he'd never seen a picture of one.  His eyes popped open, dispelling the mental image of a scaled monster biting him in half.

De'Croix stared out a viewport -- Zukav was asleep.  Cord had a feeling they were all going to know a great deal about raptors -- soon.   

The shuttle screamed into atmosphere, bucking and twisting.  Cord gritted his teeth and forced himself to stare out a tiny viewport.  Without some sort of visual reference, his stomach would become a liability.  At first only water was visible.  When the main continent rolled into sight he watched a belt of deep green jungle give way to a vast strip of brown desert.

As they descended, the green disappeared.  Wrinkled, multi-hued, dry bone desert flowed by for a long time.  When the shuttle banked into a normal circling approach to their destination he could see nothing resembling a camp or outpost.  Then he noticed a single blocky structure, so small as to appear out of scale against the sand and rock terrain.

"Christos!" he muttered.  A fearful howl threatened to burst from his throat.  This can't be Gehenna!  Moments later the shuttle slowed, came to a hover and banged down.

The rear door popped open and swung down to form a ramp.  Furnace-hot air swirled in, laden with the peculiar scent of sun-baked rock.  Two figures in combat armor stood in the bright sunlight.  One handed a weapon to the other, worked his way forward and unlocked their restraints.  Cord sucked in several shallow breaths, then stood, straightened his tunic and walked to the back, blinking in the glare.

Heat shimmered in the still air.  The ramp faced the open desert.  With one hand raised to shade his eyes, Cord gazed out over a stretch of sand.  Rock outcrops thrust up at random intervals.  Low, gray-green clumps of brush huddled next to the rocks.  A thin spray of bright yellow flowers dotted the meager foliage.  The system star, Loki, hung close to the horizon.  Slanting rays lit a thin haze of dust, staining the air red.

Beauty made the desert more perilous.  Lovely things, it seemed to him, were all too often poisonous.  Black terror loomed in the corners of his mind. 

All thoughts of Jade and Fleet HQ and his own situation slipped away.  This reality had no roots in his experience.  He had passed the point of no return on the transport, if not in Mustafa's office.  Stepping off the ramp was not an acceptance of anything.  He had no choice. 

Cord jumped to the sand.  Pain radiated from his aching joints and abused body.  So much for a calm commitment to my future, he thought.  The past still had claws.     

The man waiting beside the ramp saluted.  "Staff Sergeant Radix, sir.  You must be Lieutenant Falco, sent from On High to be our fearless leader.  Are you all right, sir?"

Cord returned the salute, ignoring a jolt of pain.  "I'm not fearless, Staff Sergeant.  If that's a qualification I'm in the wrong place."  He leaned back and massaged the small of his back.  "Too much of too much last night." 

Radix was an android.  He didn't laugh at Cord's attempted humor.  His plain metal face, with its two vid sensors and speaker grille, gave no hint of the sergeant's first impression of his new commander.

"Your fame preceded you, sir."  Radix turned back toward the shuttle and yelled, "Stag!  Have the fresh meat unload the supplies!"  He led Cord toward a large concrete bunker.

"Welcome to our humble fortress."

The Lieutenant said nothing.  He sucked in baking hot air and concentrated on what Radix had to say. 

"Stag is the only other sergeant, sir.  He's managed to survive three years of a four year assignment."  He nodded to a cluster of men heading for the shuttle.  "Those lads have finished out their time.  We're down to seven, including you and the two with you."

Cord was stunned.  Aboard the Po City his platoon numbered 28 troopers and a three-person headquarters staff.  "Seven?  In a platoon?  Squad, more like."

"The name 'Punishment Platoon' is a joke, sir.  According to unit records, the platoon has numbered anywhere from three to forty."  The droid shook his head.  "From a fire team to a demi-company.  I don't know how the three men survived."

"Why?  The raptors?  I've heard stories ..."

Radix halted and shaded his vid sensors.  He wasn't wearing a visor.  "So did I -- before I came here.  The stories are a shadow of the facts, sir."  He pointed at the bunker.

"That's why our home is so much like a fortress.  Twenty meters on a side.  Just under ten meters tall.  So far we've not seen a raptor that can jump as high as the roof or the observation platform just below it."  Cord smiled at the remark, though he had a sick feeling the sergeant wasn't being funny.

The bunker reminded Cord of a squared off mushroom.  It had a thick concrete roof that overhung the sides by a meter or so.  A raised metal turret housed what had to be a three centimeter tri-barrel cannon.  Below the roof the sides were open except for corner pillars.  An armed man paced the observation platform.  Only his head and chest were visible.

"That's PFC Metzler, sir.  We have a guard on duty at all times.  The roof shades the platform and bunker from the midday sun.  Otherwise the place would be like a furnace."

Cord tugged at his sticky tunic.  "It's hot enough to broil steaks."  The heat felt good to his sore muscles.

"Wait until summer.  Sir."  Radix's hesitation before the final 'sir'  marked a noncom's contempt for an officer who didn't know the current season at his new assignment.

Cord spoke without thinking.  "Just so you know, Staff Sergeant.  I was given no information about Inferno before boarding the ship."  It sounded like whining, even to him.

The android's metal face gave nothing away, but his neutral tone hinted at polite disbelief.  "Of course, sir."

Shallow scratches marred the blockhouse concrete walls.  All corners were abraded, as if by sandblasting.  Cord touched one of the scratches.  Raptor?  The sergeant didn't say anything -- just waved the lieutenant toward the open entry door.  Framed in heavy steel, it reminded him of a starship cargo hatch.  They stepped into a room about three meters square with a similar door on the inner bulkhead.  Narrow openings pierced both side walls.  Burn marks and dark stains marred floor and walls.

"Inner door is always closed and locked except for passage of men and materials, sir.  An armed guard must be on duty outside the front door when the inner one is open."  Radix touched one of the burn marks.  "Raptors have been killed in this chamber."

Cord repressed a surge of panic.  He tried to laugh, but no sound emerged.  If Radix meant to scare him, he had succeeded.

He followed the sergeant inside.  The room beyond lay open, except for a massive square column in the center.  Stacks of supplies and ammunition lined the walls.  Combat suits and other gear hung from hooks on the walls to either side of the entry chamber.  Carbines and slug rifles filled racks attached to the central column.

A large vision screen was affixed to the wall opposite the entry.  Cord decided the video feed had to be on top of the bunker.  The image panned in a slow, steady motion.  The time display in one corner told him it was evening.

"This is the ready room, sir.  Also armory and supply room.  Let's go upstairs."  The android climbed the stairs with a deliberate, heavy tread.  Cord followed, suppressing a grunt at each painful step.

The next level contained radio gear, environmental equipment and more supplies.  Radix rapped the center column, identical to the one below.  "Plumbing, cabling and power shunts are routed through here."  A vision screen occupied a good portion of one wall.  It displayed the same scene as the one on the armory level.  They continued up to the observation platform.

PFC Metzler nodded in their direction, but did not stop his pacing.  He kept his eyes on the area around the bunker.  It was fairly comfortable there, below the thick roof.  The outer walls formed a waist-high barricade.  Cord walked to the side facing the landing area.  A carryall was parked directly below, in front of the entry door.  Sergeant Stag, armed with a carbine, stood guard while Zukav and De'Croix carried boxes inside.

Gravs screeching, the shuttle hovered clear of the landing area.  Its main thruster lit with a flash and roar.  In seconds the machine climbed out of sight.  Cord gazed after it like a man watching his life raft sink in a stormy sea.

Around the bunker dirty white sand stretched away to the horizon, relieved by numerous outcroppings of dark gray rock.  There didn't seem to be any grass or trees, just a scattering of the gray-green brush covered with tiny yellow flowers.

Radix stepped up beside him.  "Not much to see, sir.  The land is more cut up than it looks -- steep sided ravines and such.  We're about thirty kilometers south of the grasslands.  Then it's 1000 kays to the foothills and some trees."

Cord began to feel like an insignificant dot in a vast, frightening waste.  He was sure Inferno had some civilization.  "Where's the nearest settlement?"

"There's only one settlement, sir.  Port Stanley is 2500 kays to the northwest, near the coast.  Mining operations are concentrated in the mountains south of there.  Ore processing plants are located in and around Stanley.  The operations are mostly automated, but there are miners, technicians, and those who cater to their needs, if you know what I mean."

Cord knew exactly what the android meant.  He put off asking about R&R to Stanley.  His stock was low enough already.  "What other military posts are there?"

"There's just us on the planet, sir.  The Navy is supposed to have a frigate on patrol in the system -- or so I'm told."

"Dio!  Why are we located in the middle of the desert?"

"Well, sir ..."  Radix paused to insert the stub of cigar into an orifice built into one side of his speaker grille, then lit it with an old fashioned flame-type lighter.  Red lights in his vision receptors flickered.  He removed the cigar and exhaled with evident satisfaction.  "This is, after all, a punishment platoon."

The android led him through two additional levels below the armory.  The first level contained offices and living quarters for Cord and Radix in addition to a medical facility with two auto-med units and a room intended as a briefing area and classroom.  Troop barracks and an exercise room took up the lowest level.  Each level had a vision screen panning the surrounding desert.

Radix noticed his interest.  "No way to have windows, sir.  We can run other scenes, but seldom do.  It's more comforting, in some way, to be able to see what's going on outside.  Safer too.  Sort of a backup to the platform guard."

There were two armored doors on the lowest level, one in a storage closet and one at the base of the stairwell.  "These lead to escape tunnels, sir.  The one off the closet runs about 300 meters to a deep cut.  The other ends in the face of a cliff about 500 meters in the other direction."

"Escape tunnels?  What for?"  Cord tapped the metal door.  "Are there armored doors on the other end?"

"This is a military installation, Lieutenant.  In the event the bunker is about to be overrun or destroyed and assuming the occupants have enough time, the tunnels provide a means of escape.  There are explosive charges at the end of each tunnel.  The last meter or so of rock must be blown away."

The lieutenant imagined several horrifying scenarios requiring escape via the tunnels.  Wrenching himself back to reality, he tried a joke.  "I guess we won't be using the tunnels to smuggle in dancing girls, eh?"  The droid gave a hopeless lift to his shoulders and began climbing the stairs.  Congratulations, thought Cord.  I've just been voted least likely to survive.

Radix led him to the briefing room, stopped before a wall map and placed an index finger on a spot in the brown.  "Here we are, sir.  The east coast is roughly 800 kays, the west more than 5,000 and the north about 2,000.  South -- well -- "  He swept a hand across the broad strip of brown and into the dark green area at the bottom of the map.  " -- forget going south for any reason."

Cord stared at the desert brown and tan.  "Looks like the only way out, if one had to leave, is north."

"Affirmative, sir.  We have an emergency rally point 32 kays northwest.  That's in the grasslands.  It's a concrete bunker sunk into the ground and it contains ammunition, food, an emergency generator, drilled well -- all that.  Access is by armored door.  We'll be making an inspection run up there in a week or so -- after you newbies get acclimated."

Cord flashed on a vivid image of hungry-eyed raptors tracking him across the desert.  "What -- ah, why do we make these inspections?"  His face reddened as the words tumbled out. 

The sergeant's replied as if to a backward child.  "It would be a pity to escape from disaster here and arrive at the bunker, only to discover that important survival equipment had failed or that a quake had flattened the structure.  Ammunition and weapon power modules kept there have to be checked and recharged or replaced."  Radix ran a gloved hand over the map.

"Worst case -- raptors might have managed to break into it."

The idea of raptors entering secure installations made Cord forget his pain and embarrassment.  "Are they that smart?"

"Intelligence is a relative thing," said Radix with a glance at Cord.  His vid sensors flickered again.  "They have to be adaptable to survive on Inferno.  I wouldn't put them in a class with your average junior officer, but they cooperate with each other on occasion and they're apt mimics."  He produced a creaking, metallic sound, like the low rasp of a rusty hinge.

Cord supposed the noise was intended as polite laughter, to show that Radix's reference to junior officers was a joke.  He elected to ignore the jibe.  "What do you mean, mimics?"

"Originally this bunker had a multiple lever system to unlock the entry doors.  They had to be operated in a certain pattern.  That didn't stop the beasties.  They watched troopers open the doors and tried to do the same.  Eventually, one of them managed the trick."

A freezing tide of dread washed over the lieutenant.  He didn't want to know any more, but he had no choice.  "What happened to the men?"

"The next ship found an empty bunker."

Cord felt the blood draining from his face.  "How many men?"

"There were eleven Marines assigned at the time.  All of them were inside."

Radix reached to touch three deep scratches on the office wall.  The marks were parallel and about a meter in length.  They had been painted over several times.  His hand dropped, clenched, relaxed.

"That was when the double entry and escape tunnels were built.  Operational procedures were changed.  We now kill any raptors we think are hanging around, observing.  The original intent was to engage only when attacked.  Some bleeding heart moron didn't want all the wildlife wiped out."

Cord swallowed the lump growing in his throat.  He tried not to think of raptors opening doors, of scaly monsters hunting men inside this very bunker.  He walked into his office, stepped behind the desk and sagged into a chair.  The horror faded -- for the moment.  He cast about for a safer subject.

"I'm having trouble figuring out our purpose.  The concept of a punishment platoon is difficult to square with semi-combat ops, such as you describe."

"There's nothing 'semi' about it, sir."  Radix took a seat across from Cord.  "Raptors can't shoot back, but they're well equipped with claws, teeth and stealth.  The scuts often hunt at dusk and dawn, when shadows are long.  You'll see."

He puffed on his cigar.  "We patrol around the local area during the day and sometimes at night.  Our intention has been to keep them at a distance."

Keeping the monsters far away sounded like a damn good idea to Cord.  Patrolling at night or even in the daytime had less appeal.  He thought of a related subject.  "Are we using standard combat suits?"

"Affirmative, sir, except ours have an enhanced climate control pack.  A man can't function in this heat without it.  The suit armor is good protection against claws and will defeat teeth -- most of the time.  We patrol in a squad of five.  That will be tougher now, with just seven of us, but two men pulling watch-on-watch can safeguard the Sty, at least for a few days."

"The Sty?  That's this place?"

Radix made a rattling gravel sound, more like real human laughter.   "Right, sir.  It's been called that forever.  I don't know why.

Cord managed a slight grin.  The android's casual manner was infectious.  "Whatever works.  What about armament?  I saw the carbines and rifles in the armory."

"Yes, sir.  Those are our main weapons.  Regular Kalakos two centimeter carbines with grenadier kits attached, and Delta slug rifles with fifteen millimeter barrels.  The carbines will slow raptors down, but you'd have to exhaust the power capacitors to kill one.  Grenades work well, except that our engagements tend to be at close range so we can't use anything but high explosive munitions -- no frags.  A couple well-directed slugs will kill every time, but the cyclic rate of fire for slug rifles is damn slow for close work."

"What about sidearms?  Blast pistols or slug throwers?" 

"A blast pistol won't do more than tickle a raptor -- not soon enough to do you any good.  We use old fashioned 10mm slug guns.  I know of two kills with them.  Both men were down and had lost their rifles.  You have to be quick -- and lucky."

Cord activated a display panel built into the desk and glanced over the index -- the usual unit records.  He slumped in the chair.  "You have any enemies, Radix?"

"All androids have enemies, sir.  Some humans will always hate us.  No matter what."

"I can't understand that.  Every android was once human."

"That may be part of the problem, sir."  He moved one shoulder in a stiff parody of a shrug.  "Though I'm not sure I can explain it."

"Neither can I."  Cord shut down the display unit.  Time enough to familiarize himself with all that crap later.  He grinned at the droid.

"I seem to have earned the active dislike of a certain young Duke.  What did you do that put you here?"

"It's in the records, sir."  Radix's voice was neutral.  "I would advise that you refrain asking that of the men.  The subject is a difficult one."

"I don't understand, Staff Sergeant.  Were some of them sent here on trumped-up charges -- like me?"

Radix stubbed out his cigar.  "Everyone here is innocent, sir.  We're all victims of gross miscarriages of justice."  There was not enough inflection in the android's voice to indicate whether Cord was hearing self-deprecating humor or ironic truth.

A solid thud vibrated the desk top.  Cord looked at Radix.

"That's the main door closing, sir.  Stag has the new guys inside now."  The droid stood up.  "You asked how what we do serves as punishment.  We try to stay alive in a place where survival is difficult.  Each of us has done something that caused Authority to want us not merely punished, but dead.  The fact that some manage to live through their time here is probably an accident.  Come on upstairs.  You need to meet the rest of the men."

Cord thought of the android's words as he climbed the stairs.  In any other context he would think such statements paranoid or delusional.  But Gehenna bred paranoia.  He wondered if Mustafa had sent him here to die.  The possibility seemed more likely all the time.

 

End of sample chapter.

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