Grunt Traitor Read online

  With the fort all but empty, TF OMBRA moved in and made it their home. They brought thousands into the empty barracks, using the mess halls and motor pools as if they’d been their own. The only hitch had been the families of the deceased soldiers. With no power and limited ability to feed themselves, many were already dead or dying by the time OMBRA arrived. They were greeted like saviors instead of invaders.

  I spied someone familiar coming from the direction of HQ: Ohirra. Slender and Japanese, her implacable face showed several scars which she wore like badges of honor. She gestured for me to step out of line. Curious about what she wanted, I took a step back, turned smartly, than jogged over to her.

  She wore the same patch on her left shoulder I had—Mount Kilimanjaro on a red field, with a slash through it. Survivors of TF OMBRA’s first battle had taken an old tradition and revived it, sporting combat patches that inextricably linked them.

  “What’s up, Ohirra?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “For the recruits.”

  I smirked as I saluted. “Sniper check, ma’am.”

  “That’s better. How are you doing, Ben?”

  “Good, Kimiko. And you?”

  She gave me the same look she’d given me right before she’d made me tap out by getting my arm and head into a triangle as we wrestled. Her father had been a small circle jujitsu master and had trained her well. “Fibber.”

  I shrugged. “We’re all fucked up.”

  “Olivares says that you—”

  “Olivares should keep his mouth shut.”

  She frowned. “He’s right. You need to see someone who can help you work it out.”

  I pinned her with my eyes. “You never saw her.”

  She bit her lip. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then you can’t know. You’ll never know.”

  “Listen, I didn’t come here to fight.”

  “Then don’t.”

  She sighed. “Listen, Mr. Pink wants to see you.”

  This stopped me cold. I hadn’t spoken to the man since he’d taken Michelle away in a box. He’d been the one responsible for her transformation into a monstrous merging of human and machine—what they were now calling Human Machine Interface Devices, or HMIDs. I’d thought a hundred times what I’d say to him if I ever got the chance. Now, with the chance forthcoming, I didn’t know. Since I’d come to Death Valley I’d seen him on several occasions. He’d even nodded to me once.

  He was also the reason I wasn’t floating face down in the water of the Port of Los Angeles, having given me the opportunity to live another day and capitalize on my skills. As affable as a piece of gristle, he was competent because he surrounded himself with the right people.

  “Is there a problem?” Ohirra said.

  I shook my head. “I just haven’t talked to him since... you know.”

  She crossed her arms and smiled. “Is big bad tough Ben Mason scared of Mr. Pink?”

  “No, no.” I swallowed. “Of course not.”

  “Good, because for a second it looked like the Hero of the Mound wanted to find a rock and crawl under it.”

  I smiled weakly. Hero of the Mound. Although Kilimanjaro had been only six months ago, it seemed like years. Mr. Pink again—he’d made me a hero, because defeating the Cray had seemed so hopeless at the time. Everyone needed a hero to hang their hopes on. I just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time. “Haven’t heard that bullshit in a long time.”

  She did the raised eyebrow thing again. “It wasn’t bullshit. I owe my life to you. All of us who survived, we all owe our lives to you. Had you not made that mad run through the hive, we’d all be dead.” Seeing the look on my face, she quickly added, “I’ve seen the debriefing report from you and Olivares. He gave you all the credit.”

  I shrugged. “Just did what I had to.”

  “You know, at first I thought you were a poser. No, really, I did. Back during Phase II, the way you acted, how you downplayed everything... I thought it was pretence. Then later I thought it was humility.” She regarded me for a moment, gauging me. “But I came to realize it was neither. It’s minimization, something a lot of us do without thinking. It allows you to not deal with the negative emotions of events, like the deaths of your eleven soldiers before the alien invasion and all those that came after. It’s a form of depression, Ben, and it’s not healthy.”

  Ten solidly flippant retorts perched, ready to launch. But instead I said, “You’re right. I know. It’s my coping mechanism.”

  She grinned, the worry sliding from her eyes. “As long as you know. Ready to go?”

  I began walking and she fell in beside me. We held a special bond, just like the one Olivares shared with us. It’s funny. One could have a friend for life, go to weddings, funerals, football games, participate in every important event, bond like siblings, but those relationships still pale beside the friendship of combat veterans who’d fought, bled, and cried on the same piece of soil. It doesn’t seem logical that one minute could so dominate an entire life, but it was true. Ohirra was my combat sister and I’d do anything for her, just as I’d do anything for Olivares, even though I hated the bastard.

  We passed several groups of recruits who snapped to attention and saluted. Ohirra returned each one smartly, her face cold and professional. We finally reached the headquarters building, and I almost collapsed with joy as a wash of air conditioning flowed over me. The desk-bound REMFs always had the best accommodations.

  “I bet you live in barracks, too,” I grumbled.

  “And eat our MREs on porcelain plates.” She rolled her eyes. “Get over it.”

  Up two flights of stairs and down a hall took us to what had been the office of the base commander. A shouting match was going on inside—correction, a large man in a biker jacket, biker chains and a Mohawk was shouting; Mr. Pink stood stock still, inscrutable face, arms crossed. He was a study in black: black boots, black pants, and a black polo shirt with the OMBRA logo over the breast.

  “You’ve got the room here. Why can’t we stay?”

  “This is a military base under the control of the OMBRA Corporation. It is not a sanctuary.”

  “Bullshit! This is Fort Irwin and it’s owned by the American government.”

  “There is no American government.”

  “The hell there isn’t. I hear their broadcasts every night.”

  I’d heard them too, but it seemed like too little, too late. It appeared that the Vice President had survived at a secure location and was attempting to re-establish control. The message that they were out there and ready to help seemed more one of desperation than necessity.

  Mr. Pink grinned. I knew that grin. I hated that grin. “Feel free to contact your nearest representative... if you can find one.”

  The biker tried a new tactic and lowered his voice. “Listen, sir. The safety of my family is at stake. There are some terrible people out there, and there’s only so much we can do to protect ourselves.”

  “While I appreciate your position, we can’t be responsible.” Mr. Pink nodded towards a soldier with a 9mm pistol in a side holster. “Sergeant Rust will escort you out.”

  The biker’s face went through an evolution of anger, confusion, then acceptance. He left with his head down. I noted the patch on his jacket—Semper Fi, beneath the Marine Corps logo. He’d been a Marine and was probably still able to take care of himself. That he wanted someplace safe for his family indicated how dangerous it really was outside the fence. I’d heard stories, but had yet to witness it myself.

  I watched him leave, knowing Mr. Pink might have very well given him a death sentence.

  “How bad is it out there?” I whispered to Ohirra.

  She remained silent, staring straight ahead.

  “Mason, it’s been a long time.” Mr. Pink stuck out a hand.

  I stared at it. I didn’t want to take it. The moment stretched uncomfortably, yet he still held the hand out. I finally took it, pumped twice, and released.

  He sm
iled, knowing he’d won. He turned and walked to his desk and sat. He adjusted a pile of paper, then gestured for me to take one of the two red leather chairs in front of the desk. I sat, deciding I might as well enjoy some comfort and air conditioning if I was going to have to deal with Mr. Pink and his bullshit.

  Ohirra took the other seat. She put her hands on her lap and stared straight ahead. I knew her well enough to know how uncomfortable she was. I was intrigued to find out what was going on.

  What Mr. Pink said threw me for a loop.

  I’m the one who gave him his name; because of his similarity to the actor Steve Buscemi, who himself could wear ambivalence and evil as easily as he could a black suit and tie. Mr. Pink steepled his hands and asked, “Do you have anything you want to ask me?”

  There it was. The elephant in the room. He was giving me an opening.

  “Where’s Michelle Aquinas?”

  He smiled. “Classified.”

  I pushed aside my rising anger and asked, “Is she even alive?”

  “Classified.”

  “Is she located here on Fort Irwin?”

  “Classified.”

  I had to grit my teeth to keep from yelling like the man who’d just left. “God damn it, if you weren’t going to answer my questions, then why’d you get me to ask?”

  “It was important for you to ask. And I did answer. Now you know what you are allowed to know.”

  I breathed deeply. “Is she in pain?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ohirra’s head move, slightly.

  I turned to her. “What? Come on, Ohirra. You were her squad mate.”

  She made eye contact with Mr. Pink, who waved his fingers and sat back.

  Ohirra turned towards me. “She’s alive and doesn’t feel any pain. They rewired her trigeminal nucleus caudalis and trigeminal motor nucleus—the brain’s sensory relays. She feels no pain.” She flicked her eyes to Mr. Pink, then hurriedly said, “She volunteered for this. She told me what she was going to do. At the time, she wanted—”

  Mr. Pink cut her off. “All right, we’ve entertained Mason’s questions, now to move on.”

  I turned to him and sat on the edge of my seat. “Wait a minute, what did Ohirra mean at the time? Did Aquinas change her mind? You can’t hold her against her will.”

  “The status of Aquinas is not your concern.”

  “Bullshit she’s not my concern.” I wanted to tell him I loved her, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “And what about Thompson?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “Tim Thompson, the other member of my squad you shanghaied.”

  Mr. Pink waived his hand. “Such dramatics.” He looked to Ohirra. “What do we know about this Thompson?”

  “Deceased. Buried at Kilimanjaro.”

  I watched their interaction carefully, but if it was all an act, then it was a real good one. So if Thompson was dead, what was it I kept hearing? Not for the first time, I wondered if I might be going crazy.

  Mr. Pink sighed. “There you have it. Very sorry for your loss. Now, let’s get to the point of this meeting. We need you for a mission.”

  “I’m not going on a mission for you.”

  “Might I remind you that you are in TF OMBRA, which is a military unit? When you are given an order you are expected to follow it.”

  I sat back and gave him the death stare. “Fuck that shit.”

  He smiled grimly. “If you want out of OMBRA, I can make that happen. We can put you on the other side of the fence with the rest of the unfortunates. Maybe you can help them live a day or two longer.”

  I was silent as I considered the offer.

  After a moment, he added, “Listen, if you take this mission, then I’ll arrange it for you to see HMID Aquinas.”

  This got my attention. “Why me? What makes me so special?”

  “You seem to have the ability to do the impossible, Mr. Mason. Your ability to make something from nothing to complete the mission is uncanny. I’m sure there are others I could choose, others who have the same almost supernatural ability to land on their feet, but I don’t have the time to seek them out.”

  “You’ll let me see her?” I whispered.

  “Ohirra here is my witness.”

  I glanced at her and she nodded, but didn’t look at me.

  “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Mission brief at 0600 tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

  I stood, adrenaline already surging through my system. My legs were a little shaky. I was going to get to see her. And she was alive. Elation quickened my steps as I was escorted out of the building, before heading to the tents on my own. It wasn’t until I was halfway there that I began to slow, realizing that Mr. Pink had orchestrated the entire event perfectly. He’d even had a civilian present at the beginning to demonstrate to me how bad things were on the other side of the fence. Mr. Pink had known all along what I would say and do, and used it to his advantage. But while I hated the idea of being manipulated, I didn’t really care. I was going to finish this mission so I could come back and see Michelle.

  What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is forever.

  Albert Pike

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN I TOLD Olivares that evening about Michelle and about what Ohirra almost told me before she was cut off, he stormed out of the tent in search of her. I hastened to follow and kept pace with him until we found her in the gym, putting a guy who looked like he could bench press a Buick through the paces. She’d let him up, he’d come in with a punch or a grappling move, then she’d lock onto his arm and bring him down and make him tap out again, from an arm bar, rear naked choke, guillotine, arm triangle, or finally the gogoplata. She leaped into the air, catching him on the neck with her shin. Instead of landing, she hung on, pulling his head into her leg with both arms, causing the blood to temporarily cease to flow to his brain. He fell like a bag of rocks. She landed easily, barely breathing hard, barely sweating.

  She bent over and slapped the man’s face gently a few times.

  He sat up and grabbed for his head.

  “You’re going to have a headache,” she said.

  “What just hit me?”

  “A hundred and ten pounds of Japanese jujitsu master,” I said, stepping up and offering the man my hand.

  He took it and stood.

  She pointed to my feet. “Get your boots off the mat.”

  I looked down at my dusty combat boots and what had been a pristine blue mat. “Shit. Sorry.” I stepped back, then got down on my hands and knees to try and wipe the dust away, but it was no use. I glanced up, ready to apologize again, but she’d grabbed her bag and was walking smartly away.

  Olivares hurried after. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, then found himself airborne as she grabbed his wrist, pulled him into her, bent, then straightened.

  Everyone halted what they were doing, including me.

  On the floor now, Olivares shook his head to clear it as she came over and stood next to him.

  “Do not touch me. Never touch me,” she said, then continued on her way.

  I hurried over to Olivares and for the second time in as many minutes I helped up someone Ohirra had just dropped.

  Olivares cursed under his breath, then hurried after Ohirra. We caught up with her about twenty feet outside the gym. At nine at night, the temperature had fallen to seventy, which actually felt chilly compared with the extreme day temperatures. Bugs dodged in and out of the generator-mounted portable lights interspersed around the camp. These same lights caught the sheen of her eyes as if she was trying hard to hold back tears.

  “Ohirra, stop.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Olivares offered a hand. “She was your friend, too.”

  She blinked hard. Shaking her head, she said through gritted teeth, “I know that. Don’t you know how hard this is because of that?”

&nbs
p; “Then why let yourself be complicit?”

  Only the sound of the generators served as an answer. I watched the emotions play on her face. I could tell she wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason; I said as much.

  When she turned to me, I said, “Trust us.”

  She exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath. “Even if I told you what I know, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe that.”

  “Believe it. She’s not Michelle anymore. She’ll never be Michelle again.”

  I was aware that Olivares was staring at me. I let the buzz of the generators fill a few moments as I fought to control my emotions. “But how do you know?”

  “She’s not the only one. She wasn’t even the first. They’ve tried to unhook people, but they... they go insane. When they’re hooked up they have access to the Sirens’ broadcast feed—the communication feed between the aliens on Earth and those out there. They also have access to a lot of our minds. When you remove them from the technology, it’s like losing all of your senses at once. They just can’t take it.”

  Olivares jumped in. “Fine. We get that. But why?”

  She shook her head and wiped a tear away. “You have no idea what the HMIDs can do... what they have done. OMBRA has them all over the planet. Without them, the human race as we know it would cease to exist.”

  “Come on. Aren’t you exaggerating a little?”

  “Not at all. We can trace the locus for virtually all incoming and outgoing alien transmissions because of the HMIDs. We’re still finding Sirens outside of hives who are providing reconnaissance information. We are now able to block their communications, forcing them to lose time and effort. The plan is to eventually learn their language so we can actually know what’s being communicated. So yeah, the HMIDs are very important.”

  I’d held out so much hope, out of guilt and love.

  I’d never thought I’d ever love someone again. I certainly hadn’t been looking for it; I was a professional soldier, and not such a good one at that, and I’d been in so many wars. Iraq, Afghanistan, Mali, Kosovo... fucking Kosovo, with the field of dead. No wonder, really. I’d been submerged in a miasma of other people’s hatred for too many years. And then she’d come. Then she’d wanted to be with me. Then she’d volunteered to leave me.